


Deep

by Humbae



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, Bodyswap, Caretaking, Fever, Friendship, Gen, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Whump, Hurt Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Hurt/Comfort, Netflix show canon with some bits from the games tossed in, Protective Jaskier | Dandelion, Sick Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Violence, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-20
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:47:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22818766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Humbae/pseuds/Humbae
Summary: After the dragon hunt, Jaskier is travelling alone until a request from Yennefer reunites him with Geralt. Can Jaskier save the Witcher?
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 64
Kudos: 328





	1. Chapter 1

Jaskier resented his most popular song. Not because it was a bad song, but because it brought the pain to the forefront. He tried to tell himself he was being stupid and he should just forget the witcher, but he couldn’t shake the harsh words. Even knowing that Geralt had lashed out in anguish didn’t help. Jaskier had thought he meant too much as a friend to be tossed aside after a single conflict, to not be sought out after. He wasn’t a difficult man to track down should someone want to find him. He announced his presence in whichever town he visited, and was sure to spread the word of where he’d go next. And yet he hadn’t seen a single strand of silver hair that didn’t belong to the elderly in the crowds.

A couple of times Jaskier had seen notices on the boards in the villages he passed through, calling for witchers to aid them with whatever was plaguing the people in each town. He’d considered lingering, arranging a coincidental meeting between them, but every time the last shreds of his dignity had intervened. Geralt had insulted him, he should come apologise. But as the seasons turned, Jaskier had to face the truth that he had been cast aside like a meaningless nuisance. Maybe Geralt was even happy to be rid of him.

_Sod him_ , Jaskier thought and played the opening notes of a tender ballad. The crowd seemed nonplussed: some bobbed their heads along, some continued their drinking and socialising as if he weren’t there. All normal reactions. Only one patron stood out, dressed in all black, leaning against the furthest wall, nearly obscured by shadows. Jaskier couldn’t see the face under the person’s cowl, but he assumed it was either a very slim man, or a woman. He finished his set and took his bow, not needing to fight his way off the stage. Another night without singing about witchers. Another luke-warm reception.

Jaskier ordered a drink at the bar and had to pay for it. He had noticed a dip in his popularity lately, resulting in his purse starting to weigh disturbingly little. Not quite as low as his pre-witcher days, but if this trend continued, he’d soon be existing solely on the bread and fruit thrown at him at the end of a performance.

“I need your help.”

Jaskier jumped and turned around, spilling his wine. His surprise only grew when he realised who had spoken.

“What use could you possibly have for me? Also, hello Yennefer.”

She glared at him and pulled her hood lower.

“We need to talk, but not here. Follow me.”

“What if I refuse?” Jaskier asked and tried to sip his remaining wine in a dignified manner. The spilled droplets along the glass ruined the effect by sliding down onto the floor and his shoes.

Yennefer turned around and marched straight to the door. Jaskier debated with himself for approximately half a second before following. He didn’t appreciate being treated like a servant or a dog, but he could smell a story when it was offered to him. He hurried after Yennefer who had somehow made it halfway across the square outside the inn already.

“Nice to see you again Jaskier, been a while,” he said when he caught up with her.

“Save your frivolous nonsense for your little shows. I’m here for a purpose, you’re only a tool to achieve it, not my friend.”

“You could use a friend,” Jaskier muttered, hopefully low enough that she wouldn’t hear. They kept walking at a brisk pace towards the town gates, only pausing to hail the guard to let them pass. He tried to argue that it wasn’t safe outside at night, but Yennefer could be very persuasive. Moments later, they were walking along the dark road leading away from town.

“Did you just magic him to let us pass?” Jaskier couldn’t help asking. “Will you magic me to do your bidding too if I refuse?”

“Your understanding of magic leaves a lot to be desired.”

“Feel free to educate me then. Am I not your puppet, at the mercy of your every whim?”

Yennefer sighed audibly and tightened her pace. Jaskier hurried his steps too, silently cursing at his fancy shoes that were not ideal for the uneven path. They had turned off the road without him noticing and were now deeper in the woods.

“What if --”

“Are you incapable of being silent for two whole minutes?”

“Funny, Geralt used to say the same. He always… nevermind,” Jaskier finished, snapping his mouth shut. Yennefer didn’t comment. He almost wished she had.

They walked in silence for a bit. The night was cold and cloudy, but luckily it didn’t rain. Jaskier hugged himself, annoyed that he’d been dragged away before he could grab his cloak. He was about to complain when they reached their apparent destination: a tiny hut at the end of a path. Yennefer did something with her hands and stepped in. Jaskier followed, not feeling anything strange.

“Sit down, and listen,” Yennefer said. She tossed a log into the fireplace, on top of cold coals. Moments later, flames engulfed the wood. “I will keep this as simple as possible, don’t interrupt with inane questions.”

“Okay,” Jaskier said and sat down in the chair closest to the fire. The hut was mostly bare, but it was starting to warm up fast. He saw three more chairs and a table with nothing on it, an empty shelf on one wall, and a bed with no linens in it on the opposite side. There was only one window, but it was shuttered.

“There is a temple nearby. It’s protecting a magical artefact that I need. You will help me retrieve it.”

“Sounds simple enough so far, though I struggle to understand my part in this.”

“I’m getting to it if you stop interrupting. The temple is guarded by poisonous mist and the creatures that live in it.”

“I’m to be your live sacrifice?”

This time, Yennefer didn’t need to say anything. Jaskier shrank back in his seat under her glare and promptly shut his mouth.

“I’m not the only one after this artefact. There’s a less savoury mage in the area as well, working towards retrieving it. He has a head-start, but I’m planning to disrupt his operation. This is where you come in.”

Jaskier had wisened up enough to wait in silence for Yennefer to elaborate. She nodded with what Jaskier could only interpret as approval.

“He’s found a way around the poison mist, and I will take it from him.”

“It being?”

“Our mutual acquaintance: Geralt.”

Jaskier sat with his mouth slack in surprise.

“You mean… you’ll… what?”

“Did I mention the operation is already underway? Get up, we’re going now.”

Jaskier had no time to think. Yennefer opened a portal and gestured for him to go through. When he hesitated too long, she grabbed his arm and pulled him along. Jaskier felt intense vertigo, as if he had spun around a hundred times, and fell on his knees. A projectile of some sort shot over his head, hitting the wall somewhere behind him in a flash of sparks. Jaskier pressed himself to the ground and looked around, his heart hammering in his chest. They were in a room made of stone. All the walls were covered with shelves, and they were bulging with books. There were several tables and other surfaces, all littered with glass jars and pots and rocks. Jaskier crawled behind a sturdy looking table and peeked out. Yennefer was standing in front of a thin man in a red robe, her arms raised in front of her. He assumed a magical battle was taking place, though of an intangible nature.

“You bastard!” Yennefer suddenly shouted, startling Jaskier. He stole another careful glance, making sure to be mostly covered by the table. The man was on his knees, grinning through the blood pouring down his face. Yennefer stood over him, but she looked furious rather than victorious. Jaskier wanted to know what was happening, but his instinct for self-preservation was greater. He remained hidden, waiting for the next move.

A meaty splash alerted him to something having happened. He peered out again, grimacing in disgust when he saw Yennefer grind her heel against the floor amidst the remains of what looked like an eel.

“Did we win?” he asked, still cowering.

“In a way,” Yennefer said. She stood still for a moment, eyes downcast but not looking at the mess. “He actually went that far.”

“Was that meant for me or was it internal monologue that became external by accident?” Jaskier asked. He crawled out from behind the table, dusting his knees off as he stood. Yennefer turned to look at him. He could swear he saw unshed tears in the violet eyes.

“He used human sacrifice to power the spell. Half the village gone so that he could subdue a witcher and take over.”

“That’s terrible,” Jaskier said, barely comprehending the situation. “Not to sound crass, but I still don’t know what I’m doing here.”

“I need you to take over the spell.”

“Me? The spell that killed people? How would I possibly know what to do with it?”

“It’s your connection to Geralt that is crucial. I could do it, but this is not my spell, I can’t both transfer it and take over it while keeping it stable.”

“But I still don’t know what to do,” Jaskier insisted.

“My other choice is his horse. Will you help me or do I have to trust him to his beast?”

Jaskier straightened his jacket and pulled himself to his full height. If a horse could potentially do it, he should be alright. And although the idea of meeting Geralt made him anxious, he wouldn’t leave him to die.

“Just tell me what to do.”

“He’s in the temple. Uncontrolled at the moment, and without his potions. It’s absolutely vital that you grab the artefact as soon as you can, and then get him out of there.”

“I’m going into the temple of poisonous gas?”

“No. Your consciousness will. In Geralt’s body.”

“I’m confused,” Jaskier said. He’d barely managed to shut his mouth when Yennefer grabbed a golden stick from one of the tables and pointed it at him. The impact of whatever she shot him with felt like being run over by a bull. Jaskier blinked his eyes and realised he was staring at a different ceiling. This one wasn’t grey stone, it was a greenish mosaic of a forest, with incredible details in the tiles that made it. He could see every crack and uneven surface, the small flaws in the mortar filling the spaces between.

_Stop ogling at the ceiling and move! The artefact is in the centre of the room you’re in._

Jaskier sat up and looked around. He was dizzy and nauseated, and everything came to him in too much detail. He raised his hand to rub his temple but paused. The hand was not his. It was too large and the skin was several shades paler. Hard calluses marred the palm and the fingers were thicker than his.

_Focus! You can fondle Geralt’s bits later, now get the artefact!_

“You mean I’m --” even his voice sounded wrong, though familiar.

_Yes, you’re controlling Geralt, now move him before he wakes up or dies!_

“Right, I’m going! Wait, how can I hear you?”

If rolling one’s eyes produced an audible sound, Jaskier could swear he heard it in his head. There were so many things he wanted to marvel at and try out, but he understood the need to hurry. Nothing in the situation made sense, but he could feel the burn in his -- or Geralt’s -- lungs, warning him that time was running out. He had a clear task, he just needed to complete it and run away, then he could have a breakdown and process everything that was happening.

“Can you guide me?” he asked as he was getting up. He tried to push his weight up on his right leg, but a sudden shooting pain in his knee made him fall over. Trying again with more care, he managed to pull himself upright.

_Try behind the pillar on your left_ , Yennefer’s disembodied voice said. Jaskier turned towards the indicated pillar and started walking. He could feel the immense power at his command, but also the weight of a heavier body. The sensation would’ve been disconcerting on its own, but he was also so dizzy he barely managed to stagger forwards. His head was hurting badly and he couldn’t inhale deeply before his lungs spasmed and forced him to cough. There was definitely something in the air that wasn’t healthy.

Jaskier reached around the pillar and saw a metal cage with sturdy bars and very little space between them. Inside, a wooden box stood on a low pedestal.

“Is that it?” he asked. Yennefer confirmed so, but left him with the task of figuring out how to get the box from the cage. He couldn’t see a door and thus no lock to break. The bottom was the same as the sides and the top: criss-crossed metal bars.

“Okay, I’m a big strong warrior. Power is not something I’m in short supply of.”

Jaskier pulled Geralt’s right arm back, aimed at the middle of the bar closest to him, and let his fist fly as hard as he could. The clang of his metal gauntlet hitting the metal bar drowned out Jaskier’s howl of pain. He fell to his knees, alternating between coughing and gasping for breath and moaning in agony.

_Did you just break his hand?_ Yennefer asked, sounding furious.

“No,” Jaskier said and wiped the tears from his eyes with his -- Geralt’s -- left hand. The pain was excruciating, something absolutely had broken, but he wouldn’t tell that to Yennefer. Also, that something unfortunately wasn’t the cage. It appeared as pristine as it had before his inept attempt at breaking it.

“Bollocks,” Jaskier said and stood up. He considered unsheathing one of Geralt’s swords, but suspected he’d only succeed in shattering it if he tried hitting the cage with it. What else could a really strong person try?

_Magic_ , Yennefer said in his head. _Aard the heck out of it._

“That would be sound advice if I had any sort of idea how to accomplish such a feat. What is aard?”

_Have you never looked at his hands when he uses the signs?_

“The signs? I’m usually observing from a sensible distance when there’s a scuffle.”

Yennefer growled in frustration and slammed an image into Jaskier’s mind. He reeled from the force of it, but he saw what she wanted him to see.

“Is that really all that’s needed? I don’t have to like… intend it?”

_By all means, do that, but hurry._

Jaskier copied the finger movements with his left hand, thinking of a big boom, and aimed at the cage. He didn’t truly believe he’d be capable of producing magic, but as soon as he finished the sign, he felt a gathering of energy from within, and it exploded out from his hand, hitting the cage squarely. He squeaked in surprise and covered his face for no apparent reason. Exasperation trickled through from Yennefer, prompting him to peek between his fingers.

The cage was decimated. Only the bottom remained unscathed, the rest of the bars had shattered and flown across the room. Miraculously, the pedestal still stood, along with the wooden chest on it.

“Would it be foolish to just reach in and grab the box?” Jaskier asked. He realised his breath was coming faster, and doing little to fill his lungs. If he didn’t get out soon, he wouldn’t be leaving at all.

_Knock it off with the silver sword_.

Jaskier reached behind his back, feeling an uncomfortable tightness in his shoulder as he brought his arm over his head. Geralt may be strong, but he sure wasn’t nimble. Which made no sense, since Jaskier had seen him dance around his enemies with his swords, moving with grace and fluidity. His fingers found the hilt and he pulled, needing a few tries before the blade slid free from the sheathe.

_How can you be so clumsy? Do you not understand that he’s dying?_

“I do, but thank you so much for reminding me. It doesn’t unnerve me at all, making this whole process that much more difficult. Now what do I do?”

_Use the blade and open the lid, or just push it off. Keep as far away from it as you can_.

Jaskier took a step back and reached with the sword. With a flick of his wrist, he knocked the chest off, wincing at the loud clatter it made when it hit the floor. He bent to pick it up. When he stood up straight again, he was hit with a wave of vertigo so intense he had to sit on the ground lest he faint.

_The exit is behind you. Hurry!_

“I know, but I need a moment. Unless you want me to crawl.”

_Run!_ Yennefer screeched in his mind. Jaskier was about to protest, but before he could open his mouth, he heard a noise from somewhere deeper in the temple. It sounded like a stampede, and it was coming towards him. Not wasting another moment, Jaskier climbed to his feet, the sword in his left hand, the chest jammed between his right elbow and side, and he ran. The eyes that had shown him the world in too much detail before threatened to fail him now. Bright splotches of colour swam across his vision, disturbing the darkness that was closing in from the sides. His gait was anything but smooth, but he was advancing. Yennefer directed him and he trusted her blindly. He was teetering on the edge of collapse, but somehow he kept Geralt moving.

_Just a few more steps now_ , Yennefer said, giving him hope that he’d make it out alive. He could feel the cooler air from outside hitting his face, but the noise behind him was very close now. He didn’t hear anything different in the general cacophony, but something made him suddenly jerk to the side and swing around. He came face-to-face with a creature that looked like a mix between a frog and a gorilla. On pure instinct -- his or Geralt’s, Jaskier didn’t know -- he pointed the silver sword at it, managing to hit it in the chest when it pounced. The sword sunk all the way to the crossguard, and wouldn’t come loose. Jaskier pulled it, but it wouldn’t budge.

While he was distracted, another monster snuck behind him. From the corner of his eye, Jaskier saw a hint of movement and sidestepped again, this time running into another frog-gorilla-thing. It opened its maw and reached for his neck. He jerked back, but another beast was waiting for him. Yennefer was shouting something about quen, but Jaskier couldn’t spare any focus for her. He tried to keep track of all the monsters and stay out of their reach, but there were too many. One bit his shoulder, but the pauldron prevented its teeth from penetrating into his flesh. Another trampled the one that held his silver sword in its chest, moving the weapon out of his reach.

_The other sword! Use the other sword!_

Jaskier reached behind his back, trying to dodge the beasts while he groped with his left hand. His fingers finally found the hilt, this one bigger than the silver sword’s, and he pulled it loose, smoothly this time. Before he could swing the weapon, one beast grabbed his right upper arm, pulling until he dropped the box, and sunk its teeth into the unprotected flesh of his forearm, crushing the bones. The pain should’ve debilitated him, but Jaskier was in a battle frenzy. He turned around, smacked the sword as hard as he could against the beast, and decapitated it.

_Get the box!_ Yennefer shouted. _Just take it and run!_

Jaskier heard her, but he couldn’t comply. The monsters were swarming everywhere, their jaws clicking as they all tried to bite him. He tried to recall the sign he had used earlier, but his thoughts weren’t clear enough. Fear pushed on him, mixed with anger and a lust for blood that was highly disturbing. Jaskier genuinely wanted to kill all the monsters, but he was equally certain that the impulse didn’t come from him.

_The box!_

He saw it on the floor. Three monsters stood around it, carelessly stepping over it and on it. He swung his blade in a wide arc, pushing the ones swarming around him back, and he started running towards the three. He cared nothing for finesse: he rammed against them as hard as he could. He fell down with them, bringing him right next to the box. He couldn’t grab it while holding the sword, and his right hand was useless. Making the decision on the spot, he tossed the weapon away and picked up the box. Wordless triumph came through from Yennefer. Jaskier wanted to celebrate, but he still needed to get out of the temple. He got to his feet and dodged the first attack coming his way. A mass of monsters was behind the first one, and he had to roll to avoid them, only barely clearing all. He gained his feet again and ran, limping a bit when his right knee protested the movement.

_Turn left, not too much_ , Yennefer guided him. His head was starting to clear from the battle, but the dizziness returned with a vengeance. He staggered onwards, gasping for breath, trying not to surrender to coughing. The fresh air was enticingly close, but the noise of the enemies continued.

“Hurry!” Yennefer shouted. It took Jaskier a moment to realise he actually heard her voice outside his head. He aimed towards it, hanging onto the box like his life depended on it. With her in charge, it most likely did.

“Give me the box,” she said when they could see each other. Jaskier kept running, hoping she had some kind of a plan to deal with the monsters coming after him. She did. As soon as he cleared the temple entrance, she blasted it with magic, collapsing the roof and trapping the creatures inside.

“I hope this is worth all the trouble,” he said as he handed the box over, his voice trembling as badly as he did.

“It will be. Thank you,” Yennefer said. She eagerly opened the lid and pulled a stone from inside. An ordinary, grey-white stone the size of a baby’s fist.

“Are you kidding me?” Jaskier growled, trying to catch his breath. Geralt’s chest was heaving, twinging uncomfortably at the sides. He checked himself for injuries, but there was no blood or acute pain.

“Wait, where’s my body?” he asked when his brain finally caught up.

“I returned it to the hut. Take Geralt there too.”

“Can’t you just portal us there?” Jaskier was leaning his left elbow on his thigh. The right arm throbbed in pain.

“I have a long jump ahead of me, I don’t have the spare energy for two portals. But you’re close enough, just travel east and you’ll reach it before the night is over.”

“But I’m hurt! Well, Geralt is. Are you really going to let him run around in a dark forest?”

“You can see,” Yennefer said and opened her portal. Jaskier stepped back from the whirling energy.

“Where are you going?” he asked, fully expecting to be brushed aside, but feeling like he needed to try anyway.

“None of your concern,” Yennefer said. She leaned in and planted a quick kiss on Geralt’s cheek. “But if you need me, you can reach me in Skellige. Take care.”

With a whoosh, she was gone. The portal blinked out of existence, leaving Jaskier alone in the dark. As promised, he realised he could actually see despite the lack of light.

“‘Take care,’” he repeated in a high-pitched voice. “I’m stranded in the middle of nowhere in a body that is not my own, and I don’t know how to return to mine even if by some stroke of divine luck I manage to find it. Damn all the sorceresses and their stupid schemes!”

Jaskier’s rant was rewarded with a coughing fit. He doubled over, gasping painfully. Something was definitely going on with Geralt’s ribs. They expanded without trouble, but there was a tightness nevertheless. Not quite painful, but unfamiliar. Once he could breathe again, he straightened up and looked around. Yennefer had told him to go east, but he wasn’t sure which direction that was. He usually did his travelling along the roads, in bright daylight.

“Hey Geralt, are you there?” he asked and waited for an answer. Only nocturnal birds hooted at him.

“Fine, I shall rest until the sky starts lightening from one end. Whichever end that is, that’s what I’ll head towards. Good plan.”

He walked away from the temple, finding a tree to lean against. He was bone-weary and hurting all over. The worst was his right arm: it was pure agony from forearm to knuckles. He sat down and lifted the limb in his lap. The bite wound was bleeding sluggishly, dripping onto his trousers. He should probably wrap it in something, but his head hurt too much for him to think. He wondered if he could fall asleep in Geralt’s body. Maybe that’s how he would break the connection and wake up in his own. He didn’t feel like he had much choice either way. He could wander aimlessly in the unfamiliar forest, barely coherent enough to understand what was a tree and what was a bush, or he could give the body he was inhabiting the rest it craved. He wasn’t even sure if he could stand up.

Decision made, Jaskier leaned his head back and tried to relax. Every part of his body was hurting to some extent, and the dizziness still hadn’t cleared. He let go, hoping to open his own eyes when he next blinked.


	2. Chapter 2

Jaskier was following a cart. It was rolling along a dirt road that was lined by impossibly high trees. His tiny bare feet kept taking steps rapidly, but he didn’t get closer to the vehicle at all. A woman with long reddish brown hair was driving it, holding the reins casually and keeping her gaze forwards. Jaskier could only see the back of her head. He had a desperate need to catch up with her, but he couldn’t do it. The trees stretched taller, getting darker and looming closer. He ran and ran, but he gained no ground. The woman kept sitting impassively, unaware or uncaring of his plight.

“Wait! Ma!” Jaskier shouted. He was crying and yelling and trying to run faster, but nothing he did brought him closer to the woman. The longing he felt was so strong it had to be real, but he didn’t know who the woman was. The small dirty toes weren’t his either. Nothing in the dream was.

Jaskier woke up with a jolt. His heart was pounding, powerfully but slowly, and sweat made his shirt cling to his skin. He sat up, wincing in pain, and took stock of his surroundings. He saw a mostly black sky with shades of blue starting to take over on one side. Still in the woods in Geralt’s body then. He turned towards the east where the brightness was creeping in. That would be his direction to follow. As far as he could see, there was nothing but forest. Thick coniferous trees, with the occasional slender birch standing in between. There was no path to follow, only a uniform mass of moss and heather on the ground.

“On we go then,” Jaskier said but made no move to get up. “I wonder if you can hear me. Are you there at all, or have you been pushed aside and knocked out? Strange business this, inhabiting someone else’s body. Also, I have some very bad news for you in the form of a full bladder.”

Jaskier fell silent, feeling his cheeks burn. He’d have to take care of the urgent matter, or walk around in soiled trousers. For a moment, he seriously considered just wetting himself, but since he didn’t know how long he’d still be Geralt, he decided to take the bull by the horn. He moved his hands in order to plant them on the ground, but stopped with a curse. The pain radiating from his right arm demanded his immediate attention. He didn’t have any supplies with him, even Geralt’s potions pouch was missing from his belt. The metal armour he was wearing was also uncomfortable and heavy. The weight would’ve probably meant nothing for Geralt, but Jaskier didn’t want to carry it around needlessly. Besides, he had already lost both of Geralt’s swords, shedding his armour and leaving it behind in a place where it could be retrieved shouldn’t be an issue. Especially not when there would be the larger issue of Jaskier having controlled Geralt in the first place to work through. He had saved his life, but he wasn’t sure if Geralt would appreciate it.

Removing the armour was a precarious process. Jaskier constantly tried to reach with his right hand, but even the slightest twitch made the pain spike. He was also unfamiliar with all the buckles and straps, but eventually he managed to shed the metal shell. He looked through the parts and repurposed a greave to work as a sling. Arm secured, he tried standing up. Luckily Geralt wasn’t much taller than him so the proportions were similar. He got up to Geralt’s full height and leaned his side against a tree. He fumbled with the buttons on Geralt’s trousers with his left hand, but eventually managed to open them. He considered closing his eyes for the next bit, but curiosity won.

“I’m starting to see why you’re so popular with the ladies,” Jaskier muttered. He finished his business and tucked the beast away. His head was still hurting, but the vertigo was gone. Taking a cautious step, he winced at the tightness of the muscles, but nothing hurt too badly. After a few more steps, he found he could move with ease. When Jaskier walked in his own body, his feet fell lightly, but even a small burden would slow him down. With Geralt, every step was solid, and he felt like he could carry a horse and keep going for half a day without stopping.

“Let’s hope this won’t take half a day,” Jaskier muttered as he walked towards the impending dawn. He couldn’t see any light yet, but the sky was noticeably brighter. He would’ve loved a drink of fresh water, but there were no streams within his sight or hearing. He’d keep his unnaturally sharp eyes open though. As himself, he would’ve struggled walking in the pre-dawn light, but Geralt’s eyes showed him every stick and root and pinecone on the ground.

He walked on for the better part of the morning. The sun rose fully in front of him, a blinding but welcome source of warmth. Geralt started moving smoother once he warmed up. Jaskier almost felt like running, but he restrained himself. He was still achy and his arm throbbed with slicing agony, every rougher step reverberating through his body. The ground consisted of bare rock between the heathers, but as he walked deeper, the amount of undergrowth increased and the soil became softer.

When the sun was directly over him, he stepped into what he thought was a fluffy tuft of moss, but it gave under his boot and plunged him ankle-deep into water. Scrambling back, Jaskier managed to fall and land his ass in another hidden puddle. He looked around and saw that the trees gave way to more open areas ahead. Long grass grew amidst small berry-bearing plants. Jaskier looked at the tiny red berries. He thought he ought to eat although Geralt didn’t really feel hungry, but he couldn’t recognise the berries. He wondered if witchers were resistant enough to poisons to just shake them off, but decided he shouldn’t tempt his luck. Geralt probably wouldn’t appreciate returning to a body that also had a bellyache on top of all the other hurts Jaskier had managed to accumulate.

He sloshed onwards, wading in knee-deep chilly water. His visibility was compromised by the lanky grass, making all deeper spots nasty surprises. Sweat was starting to pour down his face as he pushed his way through the marsh. Jaskier glanced at the sun, trying to gauge his heading and how late in the day it was getting. If he was going in the right direction, Yennefer was crazy thinking he could’ve done this part in the dark, no matter how well Geralt could see.

As Jaskier waded deeper, the murky water got more resistant due to all the plants growing under the surface. It was up to his thighs already, and steadily rising. Jaskier wasn’t a strong swimmer and he hoped the bottom wouldn’t suddenly disappear from under him entirely. The low temperature of the water also sapped his strength and for the first time he realised that Geralt’s reserves weren’t limitless. He wasn’t lifting his legs so much anymore as he was dragging them through the muck. Even his bones seemed to be weary.

“If you want to come back and take over, now would be the most opportune moment,” Jaskier said, panting a little. He wondered where Geralt’s consciousness was, insofar as it had a physical presence. He was also worried about his own body, lying who knew where. Yennefer had said she’d left it in the cottage outside the village, but she hadn’t specified in what condition. The fragile human body needed warmth and nourishment.

Jaskier stepped off a little island of grass and plunged underwater. Panic tried to grip him but he fought it. He held his breath and tried to orient himself towards the surface. The marshy water prevented him from seeing anything, and he couldn’t touch the bottom. He blocked his nose and mouth with his hand, trying to calm down enough to find a way out of his predicament without accidentally inhaling. When he thought he couldn’t take anymore, a command so powerful it jerked him slammed into his mind, telling him to swim. He obeyed, not thinking about anything, just paddling with his free hand and kicking with his legs. Bubbles were escaping through his nose and he felt that his supply of air was spent. But before he could pull in any water, his head broke the surface. Sputtering and panting, he splashed in the water, trying to stay afloat.

“Geralt? Was that you?” Jaskier asked when he could breathe evenly again, clinging to a clump of turf that was supporting a small tree in the middle of the marsh. He heard and felt nothing in response. He didn’t know if his instincts had taken over, or if Geralt had actually managed to reach him in the moment of weakness. Perhaps the hold of the spell was waning. Jaskier would’ve been more than happy to flee the marsh and return to his own body, but he couldn’t leave Geralt stranded with no idea where he was or where he should go. Unless he was listening to everything that was happening, just unable to influence the events.

“If you can hear me, I’m sorry. Just bear with me a while longer, I’ll get you to safety. Then we can go our separate ways.”

No answer, but Jaskier hadn’t expected any. He got out of the water, moving stiffly. The cold seemed to be making everything hurt worse. Thoroughly soaked and miserable, he headed towards what he sincerely hoped was east. He had gotten turned around so many times, and the sun was still high enough to be a bit vague in its directions, at least to Jaskier’s untrained eye, that he could be heading anywhere. Soon enough he could simply walk away from the sun, but it was still too early for that. Even if he felt like he had walked for three days straight already.

“At least I’m not doing this in my own body. I hope it’s warm and dry, and lying on a comfortable bed. Yennefer didn’t have any bedding, but if she has even a speck of kindness within her, she’s magicked something up for me.”

Geralt’s throat was hurting too. Jaskier wondered if he’d swallowed some dirty water, or if he was still suffering from the effects of the poison mist. As far as he knew, witchers were immune to disease, otherwise he’d be worrying about contracting pneumonia running around wet. Not that he was running. Geralt was starting to grow really tired, and Jaskier couldn’t push him into a brisk pace anymore.

“Just a little bit longer,” he said. Geralt probably couldn’t hear him, but it comforted him to think that he was talking to someone. “How large can this marsh possibly be?”

Jaskier kept wading through the vegetation until early evening. He was reasonably sure he had gotten lost at some point during the day. The sun was now behind him, but he might be long past the town already. Geralt’s limbs felt heavy, requiring more effort to move. His arm still throbbed mercilessly, flaring in pain whenever he stepped poorly and jolted it. The scenery around him remained marshy, not giving him any respite from the cold wetness. His own body would’ve folded long ago, but Geralt kept marching on, even if slower.

His hope arose when he came to an area dense with slender birches. Surely more trees meant more dry land. The water level lowered down to his ankles, giving him instant chills when the wind brushed against his wet calves. He went around the trees, prepared for actual solid land, and ran into a lake.

“Will this torment ever end!” Jaskier shouted, startling a flock of birds into flight. His throat protested too, causing him to cough for a moment. When it passed, he took a deep breath and started walking around the lake, where the water only came up to his knees. He’d made it halfway across when he heard a splash. With his own ears, the sound would’ve been too quiet to register, but Geralt’s sharp hearing picked it up and analysed it as a threat. The hairs on Jaskier’s arms stood up and he turned towards the sound. At first he saw nothing and thought that witchers were paranoid by nature, but then three drowners rose from the lake and lunged at him.

Jaskier’s eyes widened and he jumped back. Three enemies and he only had the use of one arm, and no weapons. Had he not been so exhausted, he would’ve considered running away, but the drowners moved swiftly in the water, and he could barely lift his feet high enough to wade through faster than at a crawl. He saw no other choice but to make a stand. For the first time, he regretted leaving the armour behind. Drowners weren’t known as the strongest of enemies, but facing them without the metal shell sounded hazardous, potentially even fatal with his inept handling.

“Stay back! Look, there’s a dead duck in the sky!” Jaskier said and pointed upwards. The drowners ignored his nonsense and continued approaching. He took another step back, sinking into a deeper pit again. The drowners were almost upon him.

“Geralt, help!”

Either his desperation dislodged something his borrowed body knew and brought to his consciousness, or Geralt heard him. He felt the movements in his muscles, and he raised his left hand. His fingers drew a symbol in the air, and the gathering of power ran through him again, this time erupting as a blast of fire. Jaskier didn’t feel the heat at his fingertips, but he felt the explosion that was so violent the drowners were knocked back, skin burning, screeching in agony until there was silence.

Jaskier found himself in a puddle with no memory of having sat down. He looked at the smoldering corpses with wide eyes. That power had come out of Geralt. He rarely saw him use such displays of magic. Usually he kept to more subtle signs, and smaller releases of energy. Perhaps there was an art to regulating the intensity, but Jaskier was just glad to have produced something. He got up slowly, head reeling, and stepped onto more solid ground. He was tired and shaky, his borrowed body demanding rest, but he didn’t want to spend another night in the wilderness. He started walking again, feeling the ground firm up under his feet the further he got from the lake.

“I don’t know if you heard me,” he said out loud, “but thank you. I would’ve been devastated if I’d gotten you killed while under my care. I wonder if my consciousness would’ve then finally returned to my own body -- or been lost forever. Let’s not find out, okay.”

As he walked on, Jaskier started comparing the bog to the one he’d been lost in for a week in his younger days. It had also been surrounded by a very rocky forest with high elevations and sudden drops. Except he had never wandered anywhere off the roads for that long.

“Geralt, are you coming back?” he asked. Another large rock blocked his path and he started going around it. His shadow in front of him was growing long.

“You’re of course more than welcome to take over again, but I suspect you’ll be a bit confused if you’ve been unaware of the events. So if you can wait a little bit longer, I’ll take you to the village, I swear. Then we can revert to our own bodies.”

Jaskier’s next obstacle was so vast he would surely lose his heading if he started circling it. He looked up, seeing that the rock wall wasn’t sheer, he should be able to manage it with just one arm. He pushed with his legs and steadied himself with his hand, feeling the familiar twinge of pain in the right knee again. He climbed higher, finding handholds amidst the moss and lichen. When he reached the top, he took a moment to just lie there and catch his breath.

A fluffy cloud passed by overhead. Jaskier followed its movement with Geralt’s eyes. He could see details he never knew clouds had. When it sailed too far for him to see anymore, he rolled to his good side and got up. The sun was getting close to the horizon. If he didn’t hurry, he’d be spending the night outside, risking running into all the nocturnal beasts that roamed the woods.

He walked across the top of the rock and looked down at the eastern edge. Darkness was starting to creep in, but he noticed specks of light amidst the trees some distance away. Focusing on them, he realised he was looking at the town he was trying to find.

“Geralt, we’re almost there! I don’t know how far that is, but I can see the lights! It must be close!”

In his joy, Jaskier took a few excited steps, bringing him right to the sharp edge of the rock. He looked over to find the best route down, and froze. A wave of panicked anger washed over him. He felt his grip on consciousness weakening and his vision darkening. He tried to step back to be safe in case he fully lost control, but he couldn’t move anymore. Something battered against his mind, trying to push him out. He dug his heels in, but he couldn’t tell whether he was doing it physically or mentally, and in whose body. His vision doubled, he simultaneously saw the darkening sky and the forest, and a wooden ceiling, the images layered on top of each other. He grew overwhelmingly dizzy. He tried to stay stable, but there was a severing sensation and he crumbled. He was vaguely aware of Geralt’s body falling off the edge at the same time as he woke up in his own body, gasping for breath.


	3. Chapter 3

Jaskier blinked his eyes. He was lying somewhere solid. Above him was a wooden ceiling. He could see few details in the wood, just the biggest knot holes and the most obvious lines. Normal vision, then. He was back in his own body. It was cold and stiff and hungry. He moved his limbs cautiously, finding that everything felt as it should, if a bit tingly when he got himself mobile again. Sitting up was a slow process, but one he managed. He was on the bed in the hut, with nothing but a thin blanket under him. No wonder he was so stiff. There wasn’t even a fire in the hearth. He stood up, taking support from the wall, and shook his arms and legs. Being dry and free of pain was a massive relief.

“Geralt!” Jaskier croaked. His throat was painfully dry, but he didn’t see any obvious sources of water. Besides, quenching his thirst could wait, Geralt couldn’t. Jaskier wasn’t sure if him falling off the edge had been real or not, but he would have to assume the worst and hurry. He opened the door and stepped onto the path. The town would be a brisk walk away, the rock somewhere in the middle of the forest. He considered running straight to it, but common sense won. If Geralt was hurt worse than he had been when Jaskier had separated from him, he had no hope of getting him out of the wilderness on his own.

Jaskier took the fork of the path leading to the town and started running, slowly at first, but accelerating when his body loosened up. He didn’t make it far before he had to drop back to a walk. He panted for breath and held his side. After the power that had been at his command in Geralt’s body, his own felt pathetic and horrendously out of shape. He’d have to do something more physical than playing his lute in the future. But that was a worry for another day, his priority was to get a horse and find Geralt.

The town was quiet when Jaskier reached it. He headed straight for the inn, hoping someone would be kind enough to lend him a horse, perhaps even come assist him. The woman behind the bar listened to his hasty explanation about needing to find a friend in trouble. She offered him water, and Jaskier drained three cups before he paused to breathe.

“We actually have a horse in the stable that’s been paid for one night only, and it’s been three already. Been thinking about what to do with her. I see no harm in you taking her, got a saddle and everything. Damned witchers, should never trust them,” she said with a grimace, along to many nods around the common room.

“The witcher, did he have white hair?” Jaskier asked. The innkeeper nodded. “That’s Geralt! It’s his horse! Where is she?”

“First, you have to pay what he owes me.”

“Why? I’m not responsible for his debts.”

“Then the horse stays here.”

“But you were going to give her to me for free!”

“New information was disclosed,” the innkeeper said. Jaskier bit his teeth together and dug around in his pockets. He had just enough coin for the sum she demanded, but nothing else. Geralt had better pay him back. Had better be alive to pay him back.

“Do any of you know a really tall rock in the forest, not too far from here?” he asked the room. No one responded. Time was slipping by fast, and Jaskier would waste too much of it if he didn’t know where he was going. His desperation grew.

“Does it mean nothing to you that witchers are the ones keeping you safe? Their sole purpose in life being to defeat the monsters that threaten villages like this one?”

The silence remained unbroken, but many of the people were gazing downwards, as if ashamed, or thoughtful. Jaskier wanted to shake them, to make them understand.

“And if that doesn’t touch you, then consider my plea as a human, I only wish to save my dear friend. I beg you for the help, just point me in the right direction, that is all I ask.”

An elderly man stood up. He moved slowly, leaning on a cane. Jaskier looked at him, uncertain what his intentions were. The man walked outside, but stopped at the door and beckoned him to follow.

“There,” he said and pointed with his cane. “You’ll want to run that horse as fast as she’ll go, or you’ll be caught by darkness. The rock’s low enough to be hidden by trees until you cross an old wildfire site. Keep true and you can’t miss it. But if you do and come to a bog, turn around immediately. There’s nasty creatures out there, and they come out at night.”

“Thank you so much,” Jaskier said, looking into the old man’s eyes. He nodded, face grim but not unkind.

“I haven’t forgotten what witchers have done for us. Consider the village’s debt paid,” he said and walked away. Jaskier didn’t watch where he went. He rushed to the stables, easily finding Roach among the more delicate-looking steeds. She was built sturdy, able to carry a fully-grown witcher and all his gear for considerable distances. Jaskier offered his hand for her to sniff before opening the door, making sure she remembered him and considered him a friend. He would need her co-operation if he had any desire to succeed.

“Good girl, now let’s go find him,” he said as he saddled her. He’d seen Geralt do it often enough, but he was mostly inexperienced. He only hoped he did it right and the saddle wouldn’t come off at a critical moment or hurt her.

“Sorry for the fumbling touch. I’m afraid neither of us have much choice here. Time is of the essence.”

Jaskier led Roach outside and mounted her. She remained calm, accepting him without protest. Jaskier felt his mouth twist into a smile. At least Geralt’s horse still liked him.

“Let’s go,” he said and got her moving. He made sure he had the direction the old man had indicated, and let Roach choose her own path. “Just go straight girl. To Geralt!”

*****

They rode on in the deepening twilight. Jaskier was starting to realise that they’d be coming back in the dark, and he hadn’t brought anything to make a fire with, unless Geralt had something tucked away in his pockets. Regardless, he pressed on. He didn’t know in what kind of condition he’d find Geralt, or if he was even alive. The rock had been tall, and although the ground beneath was softened by moss, the drop could still prove fatal. Jaskier clung to the hope that the sensation of falling had been due to his mind switching bodies, not a physical occurrence from Geralt’s side.

They went through a thick patch of spruces and emerged into a large clearing. Jaskier looked around, realising that it must be the site of the fire the old man had mentioned. He directed his gaze upwards, looking over the tops of the trees, and finally spotted the rock. He encouraged Roach into a gallop, his heart racing faster than her hooves. Initially, he couldn’t see anything at the bottom of the rock, daring to tentatively allow his thoughts to flirt with the idea that perhaps Geralt hadn’t fallen after all, maybe he was still at the top, angry but safe. His hopes were crushed when he saw a flash of white that didn’t belong in the landscape.

“Geralt!” Jaskier shouted. He didn’t need to tell Roach where to go, she was already approaching her fallen witcher. When she stopped, Jaskier jumped down, sore from the saddle but hardly noticing it. He knelt beside Geralt, not daring to touch him.

“Can you hear me?”

Geralt was lying on his stomach, his face towards the stone wall. His legs were splayed but they appeared unharmed. Jaskier couldn’t see the right arm, the makeshift sling had kept it in place and it was now beneath Geralt. The left arm was thrown to the side, and Jaskier could immediately tell all was not right with it. The human forearm did not have a joint between the wrist and the elbow.

“Geralt? Please tell me your brain isn’t squashed,” he said softly. He went around, lowering his head between the rock and Geralt to see his face. He was pale, but still a colour resembling his normal complexion. Jaskier carefully brushed some hair aside, finding blood around Geralt’s nose and mouth, undoubtedly where he’d smashed them against the ground. He was lying on a bed of soft, wet moss, his face safely away from the smothering vegetation.

“A potion would probably be a good idea before trying to move him. Roach, is he bright enough to keep an emergency supply tucked away in your saddle?”

Roach came closer, careful not to step on Geralt. Jaskier examined the small pouches hanging from the saddle, finding bandages, something that could’ve been edible a long time ago, and an even smaller padded bag. He opened the drawstring and found a piece of cloth wrapped around something that could be vial-shaped. With trembling fingers, Jaskier unwrapped it, and faced a new dilemma. What he uncovered was indeed a vial, but unlabelled. It contained a white liquid that Jaskier had never seen before.

“Now this looks like a last resort that will put you out of your misery. But is it by healing or by killing instantly?”

Jaskier looked at Geralt. He couldn’t claim to know every thought that went through his head, but carrying a lethal potion sounded less characteristic. Geralt had plenty of ways to end his life at his disposal, but in a dire situation where even his enhanced healing couldn’t help him, he’d need something potent to boost it. There had to be a downside, but Jaskier deemed it worth the risk. If Geralt had broken his neck in the fall, a single nudge could kill him or paralyse him permanently. He could have severe internal damage that could claim him before Jaskier even knew something was wrong. And evidently he’d hit his head badly, otherwise he’d have gotten up already.

“Forgive me,” Jaskier whispered and opened the cork. “Or thank me later.”

He brought the vial to Geralt’s lips and tipped it in, hoping he’d swallow by reflex. He did, and almost immediately Jaskier could see dark veins pop out around his eyes and along his face. Were he not familiar with the toxicity reaction, he would’ve been convinced he’d guessed wrong. Geralt frowned and started breathing faster.

“You’re alright,” Jaskier said, giving him some room. “Try not to move though, you’ve had quite the fall.”

“What -- agh,” Geralt grunted, squeezing his eyes shut tighter. Jaskier’s hand flew to his shoulder.

“Easy, don’t move yet. Tell me what hurts, go through everything. Start at the feet,” he suggested.

Geralt obeyed. What he told was as Jaskier had expected: the legs were fine, but everything else was a mass of varying degrees of pain.

“I shall conclude that you fell on your massive head,” Jaskier said. Geralt growled.

“I should probably also tell you that I gave you the potion from the little pouch on your saddle. A white one.”

“That’s fine,” Geralt said with a strained voice. He was in the process of rolling over, pushing himself around the right shoulder, wincing when the left arm dragged along the ground with the movement. Jaskier wasn’t sure how to help, not daring to touch him anywhere.

“My bag?” Geralt asked.

“No idea where it is. Don’t even have your saddlebags, just the saddle itself and the little pouches attached to it.”

“My swords?”

“They’re… umm… lost,” Jaskier admitted. Geralt simply closed his darkened eyes. Jaskier would’ve preferred him getting mad, as would’ve been the expected reaction. This quiet defeat spoke alarmingly of his condition.

“Think you could get up on the saddle if I help you?” Jaskier asked. He didn’t want to rush Geralt, but darkness was quickly descending, and he wasn’t convinced Geralt would last another night outside. Roach could see better in the dark than he could, but walking on uneven terrain with poor visibility was a risk, thus they needed to leave while there was still some light left.

“I can take care of myself,” Geralt said.

“Oh yes, I’ve played no part in keeping you alive. Who do you think got you this far to begin with? It wasn’t you!” Jaskier snapped. Geralt turned his head to look at him. He still hadn’t gotten further than on his right side.

“I don’t know.”

“Wait, you weren’t conscious? I thought you were helping me along?”

“I don’t know,” Geralt repeated. Jaskier decided to drop the subject and return to it later. Geralt was obviously in no condition to think too deeply about anything other than immediate survival.

“Right, first step, can you try sitting up?”

Geralt replied by completing his turn. Laying flat on his back, he took a deep breath and managed to get his shoulders up before flopping back down. Jaskier moved to help, and on the second try, he heaved the witcher up to lean against his chest. He peered over Geralt’s shoulder. The makeshift sling was still intact.

“I have an idea. It’ll hurt, but maybe it’ll help in the long run. Let me put your left arm in that sling too.”

Geralt’s face was hidden from Jaskier’s view, but after a pause he nodded, tickling Jaskier’s chin with his hair. Jaskier slid his fingers under the arm and hand, trying to lift with as much support as he could give. When the unnatural bend in the arm straightened in his grasp, he had to swallow furiously a few times. He felt Geralt tense up, remaining that way until he slipped the injured limb into the metal greave next to the other arm. Not ideal by any means, but at least his hands wouldn’t fall off on the way.

“Eugh, I just gave myself the most horrendous mental image. Are you ready to try standing up?”

“Yeah,” Geralt said quietly. All the fire seemed to have gone out of him, replaced by the subdued obedience that unnerved Jaskier. He hoped it was due to his injuries, and not an after-effect of whatever had been done to his mind to disable it temporarily.

“Roach, can you come a little closer?”

She took a few cautious steps and lowered her head to nuzzle Geralt’s face. Jaskier looked at how high the saddle was. There was no way he could lift Geralt up there on his own.

“Geralt? Really need you to stand up. Think you can manage?”

“Just steady me,” he said. Jaskier put his hands against Geralt’s back, reminding himself not to grab his arms, and pushed while Geralt rose to his feet. When he was upright, he leaned his head against Roach’s side. Jaskier knelt to tug at Geralt’s foot, guiding it to the stirrup when he lifted it.

“Okay, a big push now and you’re on,” Jaskier said, steadying the swaying witcher by his hips.

“Am not a babe,” Geralt muttered. Jaskier ignored him and counted to three. Together, they managed to hoist Geralt up on Roach’s back. He sat for a moment, but soon started listing to the side. Jaskier tried to steady him, but couldn’t quite reach to get a good grip.

“Hang in there, I’m coming up,” Jaskier said and climbed up behind him. Geralt was leaning on Roach’s neck, balanced precariously. Jaskier grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him upright.

“Just rest against me,” he said. Geralt stubbornly kept his back straight, but when Roach started to move, he had no choice but to allow Jaskier to hold him up.

“Raffard’s a bitch for balance,” he muttered. “Effective though.”

“Good, but don’t start celebrating just yet. We’ve some ways to go, and it’s almost dark.”

“Where are we anyway? How are you here?”

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Jaskier countered.

“Stopped in a small town, left Roach at the stables, got to the inn. Talked to some guy about a contract. Something about a temple, I think. We were drinking ale. Things get fuzzy after that.”

“I think I have the next step. The guy was a mage, wanting an artefact. Your old friend Yennefer was also after it. She --”

“She’s here?”

“No. Long story short, she got the artefact and went away. Just me left to pick up the pieces, as usual.”

“This temple… was it green?”

“What? How hard did you hit your head? It was stone. Ohhh, it did have a green mosaic on the ceiling.”

Jaskier felt Geralt tense up.

“What did the artefact look like?”

“Just a stone, like any other on the side of the road. She took it and portalled away.”

“We have to go after her. Right now! Where did she go?”

“I’m not going to tell you. Cease your growling, I have a very good reason to withhold this information, namely, you’re in no condition to handle it yet.”

“Who the fuck are you to tell me what I can handle?”

Jaskier could feel the words as much as he heard them, as small movements through Geralt’s back. He tried to swallow his hurt, but anger won over. For months he had waited for their reunion after the ill-advised dragon hunt, expecting Geralt to apologise when they next met. His hand clenched around Geralt’s waist.

“I’m the stupid fuck that saved your life! And do I get a thank you? Oh no, the great indestructible Geralt of Rivia must hurry off to save a woman who doesn’t give two craps about him! If you’re too idiotic to see how little she cares for you, fine, just leave me out of it! But at least you could apologise for blaming me for all the bullshit she piles on you!”

Jaskier was breathing heavily. He couldn’t believe he had shouted at Geralt, especially when he was injured. But it also felt really good to get the poison out. Their argument had been nagging at him during their separation, festering inside and bringing him down, and now it was out in the open. All he could do was wait for Geralt’s reaction.

“She needs our help,” Geralt said. His voice sounded steady but subdued.

“That’s all you want to say to me?”

The silence stretched. Jaskier started to realise that this really was how Geralt wanted to end things. That there had never been the deep friendship between them that he had experienced throughout the years. He felt tears prick at his eyes. He hardly dared to breathe in case Geralt could tell he was crying against his back.

“I was wrong,” Geralt finally said after a long while. He felt rigid under Jaskier’s hands, in a way that had nothing to do with his injuries. “I shouldn’t have said what I said on the mountain. I’m… I’m sorry.”

“I know why you said those things to me. Yennefer rejected you and you took it out on me. But just because I understand, doesn’t make it hurt any less. I can ignore the words, but that you’d push me away when I was trying to help, that you were ready to throw our friendship away, that’s what really wounded me. Do you understand?”

Geralt nodded. Jaskier thought that would be the end of the conversation, but after a moment of silence, Geralt spoke again.

“Is it over?”

“Is what over? Our friendship? Only if you want it to be. Apparently I’m willing to bend the rules of reality and abandon my own wellbeing to come save your sorry ass. That should tell you something.”

“I didn’t think you’d forgive me.”

“So you didn’t even try. And here I thought witchers were supposed to be brave.”

Jaskier’s mind was reeling from the absurdity of the situation. He was chastising one of the fiercest and strongest warriors their world had ever seen. And his words appeared to be sinking in. He leaned his head against Geralt’s neck, feeling the silky texture of his hair on his face.

“Yes, I forgive you,” he said, and felt the tension bleed out of Geralt. So much so that he had to tighten his hold and push his legs against Roach’s side for support to keep him from collapsing when he went limp.

“Geralt? Oy, Geralt?”

*****

Darkness had truly descended when Jaskier finally saw the lights of the village. He had allowed Roach to move at her own pace, not urging her on if she decided to stop. But the mare seemed to sense that her human was hurt and she kept going, finding her path in the scant moonlight better than Jaskier could’ve. As soon as they hit the road, Jaskier guided them towards the hut Yennefer had left him in. Having seen how little sympathy the villagers had towards witchers, he didn’t want to take Geralt into the town while he was incapacitated. There were no supplies in the hut, but he could go retrieve them later. His priority was to get Geralt into bed to rest properly. As softly as Roach stepped, each impact of her hooves hitting the ground still jostled them.

Jaskier kept looking closely at the trees by the side of the road, trying to find something familiar in the darkness. He was starting to think they’d managed to go past it after all, but finally he recognised the path leading up to the hut. Geralt had been limp in the saddle ever since their conversation, a warm weight against Jaskier’s chest. He found himself strangely reluctant to get up.

“Geralt? We’re at the hut. I can’t carry you inside, so time to wake up.”

Geralt was slow to rouse. He leaned his head back against Jaskier’s shoulder, his breath hot against his cheek.

“Are you with me now?” Jaskier asked, nudging his shoulder a bit. Geralt turned his face into Jaskier’s neck. His skin was too warm.

“Come on, wake up. Just a few steps to take, then you can rest until the moon is full again, if you want. I just need a little bit of your strength first.”

Geralt pulled himself to full lucidity. His cheeks were flushed a pale pink under the dark veins, and his eyelids drooped.

“What’s happening?” he asked.

“We’re dismounting,” Jaskier told him. “You also seem to be running a fever, which I didn’t think was even possible. Guess that’s what you get for running around in swamp water with open wounds.”

“Who?”

“You. Or well, me. But as you. I’ll explain it to you once you’re feeling better. Now come on, down we go.”

Jaskier slipped out from behind Geralt and hopped to the ground. He turned around quickly to catch him if needed, but Geralt managed to drop to his feet with success. Jaskier enveloped him with his arm, needing to extend most of his strength to keep the unsteady witcher on his feet.

They staggered to the door and Jaskier threw it open. Yennefer hadn’t left him a key, or any information regarding whose the small building was, but it was unlocked and that was enough. All Jaskier cared about at the moment was that it was dry and reasonably secure. He dragged Geralt through the cold and dark room and deposited him on the only bed. He expected to find just the one blanket he had woken up on earlier, but to his great surprise, there was actual bedding now, and two blankets.

He covered Geralt with one and left him to settle down. He went to the hearth and found firewood, kindling, and flint and steel next to it. Fumbling only a little with his chilled fingers, Jaskier managed to get a fire going, bringing some light into the room. He turned around, and realised there was something on the table. Geralt’s saddlebags were immediately recognisable, but the basket next to them was a mystery. Jaskier approached it, hardly believing what he was seeing. When he opened the lid, the aroma of fresh bread wafted to his nose.

“Geralt, we have a present! There’s bread and apples and cheese and a bottle of something brown. I don’t know who they’re from, but I could kiss them right about now.” He took half of everything and devoured the meal before he even found a chair to sit on.

“By the gods, I’m rejuvenated!” Jaskier sighed dreamily in pure contentment. He sat down and finished the beer at a more sedate pace. As he drank, he tried to plan for the immediate future. They’d run out of supplies soon, so he’d have to visit the town. He would then find out who their benefactor was and offer compensation if Geralt had any coins in his bags. If not, they’d have to beg for something. Or he could perform, his lute should still be at the inn where he’d left it when Yennefer dragged him away.

“Right, I’m sorted and can think straight again, now let’s see what we can do about you,” Jaskier said and sat on the bed next to Geralt. He hadn’t moved an inch. Jaskier started by pulling off his boots and worked his way up undressing Geralt. He managed to peel him out of his leather pants without disturbing him, but for the shirt he’d have to remove the sling.

“Geralt? Wake up. I have to move your arms, and I’d really rather you didn’t come to in the middle of the process and heabutt me in the face. If I’ve learned anything sharing the road with you, it’s that groggy witchers are jumpy.”

Geralt woke up slowly. Jaskier wasn’t sure if he was fully there, but he talked him through what he was doing anyway, trying to be as gentle as possible. He lowered each arm on the bed and dismantled the greave-sling. It had worked surprisingly well, though it couldn’t have been comfortable. He hesitated before doing anything else.

“I don’t really know anything about setting bones or caring for wounds beyond the obvious,” he admitted. “How do you usually handle these things?”

“Potion,” Geralt whispered. Jaskier looked at his face closely. The dark lines were still visible, though faded. He had no idea if it was safe for Geralt to drink another concoction yet, and he couldn’t tell if Geralt was lucid enough to judge for himself.

“I trust you have some in your saddlebags. Describe the bottles to me, and we’ll see what we can do,” Jaskier said. He retrieved the bags and waited for the answer. Geralt had his eyes closed.

“Reddish orange liquid, smells faintly like celandine. Should have at least three there. Bring me two,” he said. Jaskier dug around in the bags, finding the stash inside a pair of spare underpants.

“You can have one,” he said. Geralt opened his eyes a slit and tried to glare at him. “I may not know much about your potions, but I would be willing to bet good money that overdosing is a bad idea. I’ll give you one now, you’ll eat and drink, then sleep, and in the morning we can see about more potions. How does that sound?”

“No time. We leave in the morning.”

“Absolutely not. Your body’s been through a lot, it needs time to recuperate.”

“Yenn will perish.”

“I’m sure she knows what she’s -- wait, die?”

Geralt looked at Jaskier intently, the desire to go blatantly obvious on his flushed face, but the strength wasn’t there. Jaskier uncorked a single vial and gave it a sniff. He had no idea what celandine smelled like, but at least the potion wasn’t too foul.

“The artefact. She’ll try to use it.”

“Yes, well, she made her choice. She must be aware of what she stole. Besides, we wouldn’t reach her in a day, or even a week. Now drink up.”

Jaskier shoved the potion in Geralt’s face, preventing him from protesting. He drank it in a single gulp and shuddered.

“Will that numb you enough so that I can remove your shirt?” Jaskier asked after a moment. “And what do you want me to do about your arms?”

“Leave them. Potions will handle it.”

“That sounds like a bad idea, but I shall -- against all accepted wisdom -- trust you on it. I don’t know any better, though I really should. But I will remove the shirt at least. Just try to lie still, I’ll cut it off, found a knife in your boot.”

“You’re not destroying my shirt!”

“I’m not manoeuvring it over your arms either. So you can either stew in your own filth or allow me to cut it. I’ll sew it back together.”

“Fine,” Geralt grumbled. His eyes were starting to close again, but he fought it. Jaskier worked quickly to clean and bandage the cuts that still remained open. Most had closed already, either thanks to accelerated witcher healing, or the potions Geralt had drunk. Jaskier was worried about the wounds not having been clean when they closed, but hopefully Geralt’s constitution was strong enough to burn any infection away.

“Done. Think you could eat something?”

“Water,” was all Geralt said. His eyes were more closed than open now.

“Okay. I drank all the beer, would’ve been a shame to allow half of it to go to waste when you’re too feeble to imbibe, but I see a bucket there in the corner. Hang on.”

Jaskier went to check and found what he judged to be fresh water. He really needed to find their benefactors and thank them. He brought some for Geralt, lifting his head to help him drink, and lowering him back again. The brief contact made Jaskier realise how unsettlingly warm Geralt felt. He had been planning to cover him with a blanket, but thought better of it.

“I hope this is somewhere in the neighbourhood of normal for you,” Jaskier said. Geralt was already out. Jaskier set all the soggy clothes to dry on the backs of the chairs. He had promised to mend Geralt’s shirt, but he had no needle or thread. He didn’t want to rummage around in Geralt’s saddlebags too much unless he absolutely had to. The contents of a man’s satchel were sacred.

Jaskier was too wired to sleep, so he spent the early night looking around inside the hut and taking care of Roach. He found a small creek not too far, and went to give himself a quick rinse and a drink for her. The water was freezing cold, prompting him to hurry back inside. Sleep was starting to claim him but there was only the one bed. Jaskier hesitated for a long moment, but when he shivered from the cold, he made the decision. He crawled next to Geralt, careful to leave as much room between them as he could to prevent himself from accidentally rolling on his arm, and tried to relax. Even with the distance between them, he could feel the heat radiating off Geralt.


	4. Chapter 4

Jaskier slept until the sun hit his face shortly before noon. He blinked and tried to orient himself. He was warmer than was comfortable. The reason became apparent when he focused on the sound of Geralt breathing next to him. He slipped his palm on his forehead, feeling the heat of the dry skin. No improvement there then. With a muted groan, Jaskier pulled himself upright. He didn’t think he had done much the previous day, but his muscles were stiff and sore. He did some stretches to loosen up, shaking his limbs wildly at the end.

“What’re you doing?” Geralt’s voice was even more gravelly than usual.

“Keeping myself limber. We can’t all lie in bed all day,” Jaskier said with a grin. When Geralt lifted his head and shoulders, as if preparing to get up, Jaskier rushed to push him back down. He shouldn’t have been able to, but Geralt was too weak to offer any resistance.

“I was only jesting,” he said, voice sombre now. “You should stay where you are.”

“Can’t. Have to find Yenn.”

“Didn’t we go through this last night? You need to rest and recover, then we can go find her if you really think it’s necessary.”

“No, we have to go now.”

“Why are you so insistent? She left you to die.”

“Didn’t she save me?”

Jaskier didn’t reply immediately. It was true that Yennefer had rescued Geralt by dragging Jaskier along to help her. But she had left him at the temple, knowing he was injured. They were fine now, but Jaskier wasn’t feeling charitable towards her, unfairly or not.

“Whatever we decide, it’s not going to be today. We can talk about this tomorrow,” Jaskier said. He walked to the table where some food still remained. “Are you hungry?”

“No,” Geralt said. Jaskier could’ve sworn he was sulking. He tossed an apple at Geralt, watching in horror as it hit the middle of his forehead before he remembered that he didn’t have the use of his hands at the moment.

“I’m so sorry! Shit, that was so stupid! Here, I’ll help you,” he said and picked up the apple. He rubbed it against his shirt and held it in front of Geralt, but he didn’t bite.

“Come on, I said I was sorry.”

“Not hungry.”

“Irrelevant. You need to eat to get better, didn’t your mother ever say that when you were sick as a child?”

The flash of hurt in Geralt’s eyes made Jaskier realise he’d said something idiotic again. The look disappeared under an impassive mask as quickly as it had appeared, but Jaskier had seen a glimpse of the sadness beneath. Geralt didn’t talk about his past, but he should’ve guessed. Witchers were made, after all, and they started young.

“Sorry. I swear I’m trying to help, not make things worse, though that’s what I seem to be doing. Give me another chance?” Jaskier asked, smiling cautiously.

“Feel sick,” was all Geralt said.

“Get me a bucket right now kind of sick, or leave me alone kind of sick?”

“Leave me alone.”

“Okay, I’ll go see to Roach, try to get some sleep,” Jaskier said and left the hut. He felt stupid, but hopefully the mare would at least be glad to see him. He was still holding the apple, so he gave it to her when she came to him. Greedy lips pulled the fruit in and Jaskier smiled. He checked her over, but she appeared perfectly fine. Slightly dirty, so he led her to the stream and scrubbed the worst of the grime away. 

“Your master is a stubborn ass,” he told the horse. “But I think I really hurt him by bringing up some bad memories. Wish he’d tell me more about himself. Not that I’ve been too forthcoming about my past either.”

Jaskier started leading Roach back towards the hut. She’d been grazing freely in the surrounding area, not straying far. Maybe he’d ride her into town instead of walking, give her some exercise. He entered the hut again, noting that Geralt appeared to be asleep. Sneaking to the table, he took out a potion and was about to set it on the bed next to him for when he woke up, but stopped. Exactly how was he expecting Geralt to open the tiny cork when he couldn’t use either hand? Feeling stupid yet again, he put the vial back in the bag and looked for coins. He found a small handful in a little pouch. It would get them some food and a needle, but little else. He left on silent feet and headed towards the town.

*****

“Geralt! Good news!” Jaskier slammed the door shut behind him and put a new basket on the table. It was bulging with food and bottles and cloth. “The old man that helped me find you gave a stern talking to to the whole village, and they feel bad about how they’ve treated witchers in the past and gave us all this stuff for free. And I found my lute!”

Jaskier held his instrument up, smiling fondly at it for a moment.

“Anyway, your bag is lost, no one’s seen it, but don’t worry, this beautiful young widower donated some of her late husband’s clothes for you. Most of it probably won’t fit since you’re the size of a small building, but some of it should. Also, I couldn’t find anyone capable of making potions, but there’s a mage in the neighboring village, only a few days’ ride away, so if you take a turn for the worse, I’ll go get her. How’s that sound?” Jaskier asked and turned around. Geralt was blinking at him, looking like he’d just woken up.

“Right, water. ‘Keep him hydrated’ is what the old woman advised, she also offered to take a look but I said we’ll manage.”

Jaskier grabbed a cup and filled it with water from the bucket, and brought it to Geralt. When he slipped his fingers behind Geralt’s neck to support him, he frowned at the heat emanating from him. Either his hands were cold from the trip outside, or Geralt was warmer than in the morning.

“How do you feel?”

“Like shit,” Geralt said. His lips looked dry enough to crack and his eyes glistened with fever. Jaskier set the empty cup down and touched the back of his hand to Geralt’s forehead and cheeks.

“You’re really burning up,” he said. “Is this another witcher thing, that you’re hotter than an average human but still okay?”

Geralt only shrugged. He was drifting off to sleep again.

“I’ll need to check your wounds, but you can sleep through that. I’ll wake you to eat later though, I’ve got some thin broth for you that the local baker made. I don’t know what the old man said to turn people around, but they’ve been incredibly helpful.”

Jaskier kept up his light chatter while he unwrapped the bandages around Geralt’s arms. He tried to be as gentle as possible, but the occasional grunt and sharp inhale told him he was causing pain. Only the right arm had any surface wounds remaining, and even they were scabbed over. He looked for any redness around the edges like he’d been instructed to do, but the skin was as pale as everywhere else. He left the bandages off and stowed the fresh ones in Geralt’s saddlebags for later use. They’d almost certainly come in handy at some point. He took the second to last healing potion and put it in his pocket.

“Are you awake?” Jaskier asked.

“No.”

“Good, time to eat. This will be easy, you just gotta drink, that’s all.”

Jaskier brought a mug to Geralt. He helped him lift his head again, but Geralt resisted.

“Wanna sit up,” he said.

“There’s no headboard. Oh, but I can, hang on.” Jaskier set the mug down and lifted Geralt’s shoulders with both hands, manoeuvring himself behind and under him. A few more corrective moves and he was sitting on the bed with Geralt’s head leaning on his shoulder, chest supporting his back.

“Now you have no excuses, drink everything,” he said. Geralt twisted his head to glare at him, but couldn’t say anything since Jaskier slipped the mug in his mouth. He managed three sips before he clamped his lips shut, causing Jaskier to spill some.

“Come now, this will help you.”

“Too much,” Geralt said quietly. Jaskier gave him a break from the broth and took out the potion instead.

“You have only one left after this. Is it better to drink them both now to evict the illness with volume, or take one later for a prolonged effect?”

Geralt didn’t answer for a while. Jaskier was starting to think he had lapsed into delirium or fallen asleep.

“One. Don’t think I can handle two at the moment,” he finally admitted. Jaskier fed him the potion, watching in sick fascination as the darkness spread on his face.

“I can actually see it travel through the small veins around your eyes,” he said. Geralt glared at him, but the creases around his eyes softened as the potion took effect. Soon he started to nod off.

“Sleep well,” Jaskier said and held Geralt’s shoulders, preparing to extricate himself from under him.

“Stay,” Geralt whispered. Jaskier stopped, unsure if he had heard correctly. He asked for a repeat, but Geralt had already drifted off, breathing slowly and steadily. Jaskier was hungry, but he decided to linger a bit longer just in case. Perhaps the inclined position felt better for Geralt and that’s why he wanted Jaskier to stay. Perhaps he was cold if his fever was rising and he desired Jaskier’s body heat. Or perhaps -- as unlikely as he considered it -- he yearned for the comfort Jaskier’s presence offered.

*****

“Good morning,” Jaskier said with as much cheer as he could muster. He had dragged the bucket of water next to the bed, as well as a chair with some spare clothes working as a cushion, and the last potion.

“I’m glad you decided to join me today. We had a long, difficult night. Do you remember anything?”

Geralt glanced at Jaskier with eyes that held little comprehension. He looked around, as if seeing the room for the first time.

“I’ll take that as a no. Drink this potion, if it doesn’t pull you onto dry land, I’m afraid we’ll have to start building a raft.” He tipped the liquid into Geralt’s mouth, holding his shoulders up again to minimise the risk of choking. Once he released him, he fished in the bucket until he found a strip of cloth. He slapped it on Geralt’s forehead and waited. After a few moments, Geralt’s eyes focused on Jaskier.

“What --”

“You had what we might call a relapse. Or perhaps you hit rock bottom. Either way, your fever rose higher than ever towards the evening yesterday, taking your reason with it. As much as I enjoyed hearing you rave about apples and grasses, it was scary as hell, so kindly never do that again.”

Jaskier studied the blank look on Geralt’s pale face. He was torn between wanting to smack him for causing him so much worry, and needing to hug him out of relief. His head and back hurt from sitting by Geralt’s bed all night, trying to cool him down with the water. The dark hours had felt endlessly long, with Jaskier fearing that each breath his friend took would be his last. But somehow, Geralt had pulled through. He seemed to be at a reasonable temperature now, still feverish, but moderately so. Jaskier stood up and stretched his hands above his head. There was an audible pop from somewhere in his back.

“Sorry,” Geralt said. Jaskier felt like laughing at the absurdity.

“This is not something you need to apologise for,” he said. “But I do appreciate the sentiment. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll visit the creek for some fresh water.”

He grabbed the bucket and left the hut. For some insane reason, he felt tears gathering in his eyes. Deciding he was just tired, he rubbed his sleeve across his face. Roach was eating tall grass by the shore, but she raised her head when Jaskier stepped into sight. He smiled at the horse and went to give her a pat.

“Your master’s more trouble than he’s worth,” Jaskier said with a smile. It appeared his heart had fully forgiven Geralt for pushing him away. And Geralt appeared to be trying to make his behaviour up to Jaskier. Their friendship had weathered the storm and was ready to rise again.

“Gods, I need a nap,” Jaskier said to himself and splashed some water on his face. The day wasn’t far along but already it felt like late afternoon. He filled the bucket and set it on the ground, sitting down next to it.

“At one point, I really thought he was going to die,” he told Roach. “He was so quiet, burning so hot, breathing much too fast. And you know what I realised? I very aggressively did not want him to die. Not just because he’s a fellow human -- well almost human anyway -- or a friend, the sense of loss for something that isn’t even there hit me hard. I might be a fool. But it feels good to be needed by him, you know? Like, I would follow him anywhere. In fact, I will. I’ll join him on his pointless quest to Skellige to find Yennefer and learn for ourselves that she can indeed take care of herself. But if he needs to confirm that, I’ll be there for him. So pathetic, isn’t it? I doubt he’d do the same for me. Maybe that’s unfair, but there you have it.”

Jaskier gave Roach’s nose a pat and got up to return inside. A gust of wind nearly tore the door from his grasp and he struggled to shut it quietly. Geralt’s eyes were closed but the deep lines on his face told him he was awake. Jaskier brought the bucket to the kitchen and filled a cup from it.

“Time to drink, and later to eat. Let’s start regaining that strength of yours, I’m cautiously optimistic that you’re finally on the mend,” Jaskier said. Geralt turned his face towards the wall.

“What’s the point,” he muttered. Jaskier paused.

“What do you mean? Get strong again, resume witchering, go on with life as usual.” Jaskier smiled, uncertain what was going on.

“With what? I remember everything, you threw my swords away!”

Jaskier’s smile fell. He held the cup in front of Geralt’s mouth, waiting for him to take a drink.

“You can buy new swords, the important thing is that you’re alive and getting better.”

“I have no gear, no weapons, not a single coin to my name. You’ve beggared me, a witcher with no tools of his trade. What the hell am I gonna do?!” Geralt was shouting now, his face a mess of pink and black. Jaskier set the cup down.

“Apparently you’re going to give up and cry like a baby!” Jaskier replied, his voice also rising.

“You seem fond of abusing helpless creatures, do you kick babies too? You certainly had no trouble doing whatever you pleased with me, not letting me back in control!”

“What’s that supposed to mean? I had no choice!”

“You violated me!”

“I saved your life! How about a little bit of gratitude! You’re like a --” Jaskier cut himself off. His anger vanished in an instant when he realised what he was doing.

“Like a what, don’t spare your verbal range now, let me have it!” Geralt was still shouting, but his voice cracked, on the verge of giving out.

“Like a sick person clawing his way through convalescence with depleted reserves. I can’t believe I allowed myself to get angry at you. Now rest your throat and drink this water, then we’re both going to take a nap.”

Geralt said nothing, looking furious still, but he drank everything when Jaskier held the cup to his lips. Without a word, Jaskier lay down on the bed, staying at the very edge to keep away from Geralt’s right arm. He closed his eyes, but a slight shuffle at his side made him look. Geralt lifted his arms on his stomach and scooted closer to the wall, giving Jaskier more space to relax in.

“Sure your arms are okay with that? The breaks can’t possibly have healed yet, no matter how many potions you’ve chugged.”

“They’re fine,” Geralt said. His voice sounded rough, but there was no trace of anger left in it. Jaskier gave him a smile and closed his eyes again. Sleep started pulling him under immediately.

*****

Jaskier woke up warm and comfortable. The steady breathing by his side told him Geralt was alive and calm, most likely still asleep. There was noticeably less heat coming off him. Jaskier opened his eyes and turned to look. Geralt’s brow was dripping sweat, a sure sign that the fever was releasing its hold. Jaskier smiled in relief. Apparently even a combination of poison mist, broken bones, open wounds, and swamp water wasn’t enough to defeat a witcher.

“Glad I didn’t cause your premature demise,” he whispered. The guilt would’ve killed him if he’d had a part to play in the events that led to Geralt’s death.

“Wouldn’t have been your fault,” Geralt whispered, startling Jaskier.

“Thought you were asleep,” he said. He sat up and looked down at Geralt.

“You did your best.”

“Are you just saying that for my benefit? You were pretty angry before.”

“Wasn’t feeling my best,” Geralt said. He had yet to open his eyes. Jaskier snorted at the understatement.

“And I’m just a little bit peckish,” he said. He’d nibbled on some jerky during the night, but it had been a while since his last proper meal. He was hungry enough to eat a whole horse.

Jaskier got up and went to the drinking water bucket on the table. He downed two cups before he brought one back for Geralt.

“Let me,” he said when Geralt tried to lift a hand. “Our next stop should be the neighbouring village with the mage in it. Someone needs to take a look at your arms and hand, make sure they’ve healed alright.”

“They’re fine,” Geralt said, though Jaskier found the conviction in his voice lacking. A witcher’s greatest weapon was his body after all, no sword in the world would help him if he couldn’t wield it.

“We have to find Yenn.”

“Are you still going on about that?”

“She’s in danger.”

“How about this: we go to Novigrad to find a ship, but we won’t sail before a qualified healer declares you hale and hearty. Deal?”

“Where exactly are we sailing?”

“That’s information you will receive after the visit to the healer.”

Geralt grunted in response. Jaskier took it as an agreement.

“More water? I’ll heat up some pie for us.”

“Can get it myself,” Geralt said and sat up. Jaskier didn’t need to stop him: the sudden change in position had Geralt’s eyes lose their focus and he flopped back down.

“As commendable as your resolution is, give yourself some time. Do you not understand how ill you’ve been? At least eat first before trying to get up, and see how you feel.”

“I’m not used to such weakness,” Geralt grumbled, but he stayed horizontal.

Jaskier brought him half a cup of water and allowed him to busy himself with trying to lift it and drink from it without spilling everything. He lit the fire and dug around in the basket for a meal that could fill two ravenous men. He’d have to go to the town soon for more, but he was hesitant to leave Geralt alone. Not because he feared he’d expire, but because he suspected he’d overdo it without someone keeping watch over him. He was willing to sit on the stubborn witcher’s chest if need be to keep him resting for longer.

Their afternoon passed by quietly. They ate the reheated pie and all the remaining fruit and jerky. Geralt napped while Jaskier sorted their clothing. Everything Geralt had worn in the swamp needed a thorough washing, and his own shirt was smelling rather ripe as well. Roach could use some attention too, roaming the forest by herself. Jaskier took his washing and the last apple to the creek and lost himself in the simple tasks. When he returned inside, the sun was already kissing the horizon.

“We’re leaving tomorrow,” Geralt declared as soon as Jaskier stepped in. He closed the door and spread their clothes around the room to dry.

“You’re not ready,” Jaskier said as he came to stand by the bed.

“I determine that, and I say I am,” Geralt said. Jaskier tried to gauge if he was getting angry, but he appeared calm.

“I’m not trying to belittle you, I merely question if you’re fit enough to see clearly. Which in and of itself should prove that you’re not ready to travel.”

Geralt narrowed his eyes and looked directly at Jaskier. “You’re trying to appease me, why?”

“Because I _am_ sorry that I violated you. No, actually I’m not sorry about that, I did it to save your life with honest intentions. What I’m sorry for is that saving you was achieved through the loss of your agency.”

“I get that,” Geralt muttered.

“Really?” Jaskier asked and sat on the bed. The pain he had seen in Geralt’s angry eyes was still fresh in his mind. The emotions he worked so hard to conceal had boiled over, revealing the truth that usually lied suppressed. He had been hurt because of Jaskier’s actions, no matter how inadvertently.

“I was aware. Maybe not fully conscious, but I knew what was going on. I knew someone had to get my body out of the poison gas… but I tried so hard to take control, and I couldn’t. I could only watch, see my weapons abused, my gear abandoned, my hand broken, and I could do nothing. I felt it all, but I had no power to do anything.”

Jaskier lowered his eyes to his lap. Guilt gnawed at him. He had saved Geralt, yes, but he’d also stupidly hurt him. He hadn’t taken care of his best friend’s body as well as he should’ve, and Geralt bore the price now. He turned his head towards Geralt, seeing his hunched position, sitting on the bed, curled into a smaller ball than a man of his size should be able to wrap himself into.

“I’m sorry. I really am,” he said. The words seemed woefully insufficient, but he had nothing else to offer. Geralt exhaled shakily, and Jaskier realised he did have something else. He closed the distance between them and slipped his arms around Geralt, pulling him into a hug. There was no resistance. Geralt pressed his face against Jaskier’s chest, allowing him to hold him, not fighting the embrace at all. Jaskier smoothed his hands down Geralt’s back and hair, keeping silent for once in his life, hoping his solid presence conveyed the comfort he so desperately needed to give.

Eventually, Geralt went slack in Jaskier’s hold. He listened to the steady breathing, realising that Geralt had fallen asleep. He gently lowered his head to the pillow and covered him with the blanket. As he got up, he got a sudden urge to kiss his forehead. He resisted, certain that Geralt would wake if he touched him, but the impulse was there. Shaking his head, Jaskier pulled the other blanket on himself and closed his eyes. He had felt moments of deep fear in the hut, but it hadn’t been all bad, being cooped up with Geralt. He was a little bit sorry that their break from adventuring was coming to an end.


	5. Chapter 5

The road to Novigrad was long and tedious. For once, Jaskier didn’t complain about Geralt riding while he walked. The first couple of days, it was a miracle that Geralt stayed in the saddle until evening. They had frequent breaks on Jaskier’s insistence and the progress was slow. At least the weather was on their side, giving them dry -- albeit cold -- days under the spring sun. Geralt was quiet for most of the time, all his energy spent on keeping upright and alert. Jaskier monitored him closely and watched the road, hoping to catch any potential dangers that might threaten them. So far their only altercation had been in the village.

Jaskier had found the old man who had aided them. He was happy for the chance to thank him, and to express his gratitude towards the whole village. But as they had been leaving, Jaskier on foot and Geralt on Roach, a woman had stepped in front of the horse, prompting a hasty halt. She was mourning a son she had lost to some monster that a witcher had let escape decades ago, and she took it out on Geralt. Jaskier’s sense of debt towards the village hadn’t been sufficient to placate his anger and he had matched her vitriol. In the end, they had made a hasty exit, not slowing down until they were well along the road.

Jaskier wasn’t proud of his behaviour, but the verbal abuse she had spouted had been so unjust towards Geralt, and he had done nothing to defend himself. What upset Jaskier the most was that this was a typical occurrence, nothing out of the ordinary for the witcher, and he had taken it in stride.

“It’s so unfair!” Jaskier huffed.

“Hmm?” Geralt asked. It was late afternoon and they were still far from the next town.

“The way people treat you. Doesn’t it bother you?”

“What brought this on?”

“I was thinking about the woman from the village. She was so unreasonable.”

“I’m used to it,” Geralt said. His slumped position revealed how tired he was. He was better in the mornings, but towards the evening Jaskier occasionally caught him dozing in the saddle. He usually called a halt then, to very little protest.

“It makes me so angry. To know what you do, why you bloody well exist as you are, all to keep people safe, no matter the expense, and then you get blamed for the failures of the few. There’s no justice there!”

“Don’t waste your emotions on a witcher, that’s absurd.”

“Shut up! If you’re going to start with the ‘witchers feel nothing’ nonsense again, I will hit you with your own boot!”

Jaskier kicked a rock lying on the road, watching it fly a respectable distance into a bush, dropping a few unopened leaf buds as it landed. He made a conscious effort to calm his breathing, trying to push the fury out. He didn’t know why the emotion had suddenly overtaken him. Perhaps he was just tired from the journey and from constantly worrying. With Geralt not fully recovered yet, Jaskier had taken on the mantle of the protector, and it was heavy. Having experienced the weight, he could imagine carrying the responsibility not just for his friend, but for the entire humanity -- and getting scorned for it.

“Do you want to ride for a while?” Geralt asked. Jaskier smiled despite himself. Trust Geralt to take the physical approach, trying to soothe emotional strain through action. But Jaskier recognised the offer for what it was: Geralt’s way of saying he saw his friend’s distress and wanted to help, that he cared.

“No, I’m alright. Just needed to air my frustrations. We should reach Novigrad tomorrow.”

“The road’s heavily used,” Geralt noted. They hadn’t seen many travellers, but their signs were obvious enough for even Jaskier to pick up with his inferior human eyes. A fallen horse shoe here, an abandoned cartwheel there, and a scattering of bones and apple cores near the remnants of fires.

“Listen, I know you’re going to be stubborn about this, but hear me out. When we get to the city, I will visit the bank, and we will order new armour and swords for you. And you will not pay me back.”

“I don’t blame you for losing them. I understand that you did your best in a situation you were ill-equipped to handle. It wasn’t your fault.”

“Nevertheless, I want to do this for you. Logical or not, it’ll make me feel better. In fact, I will be mortally offended if you refuse.”

Jaskier could see the indecision on Geralt’s face. On the one hand, his pride demanded him to fend for himself. Pride, or something deeper and more painful that Jaskier didn’t want to think about. But on the other hand, he literally owned the clothes on his back and nothing else. Roach was not merchandise, selling her was entirely out of the question. Without the equipment, scraping enough coin together to buy effective armour and weaponry would be difficult.

“What if I pay you back half of the value?”

“Fine, I can accept that. But lodging for the night and whatever the healer requests will be on me. As well as the sea passage unless we can strike a deal with the captain. There’s bound to be pirates on the way, they might be in need of a guard.”

“Where are all these funds suddenly coming from?” Geralt asked. Jaskier noted that he didn’t argue with the plan.

“Hah, I’m not quite the open book you think I am.”

“Is it related to your nobility?”

“How did you know?”

“You may be an idiot but you’ve been educated. No commoner can afford that.”

“You spoil all my fun. Here I thought my mysterious past was a secret from the world.”

Jaskier was pleased when Geralt didn’t ask for more information. As infuriating as his reticence could be, at least he respected others’ privacy.

They kept walking late into the evening, stopping only when darkness rendered the road dangerous.

*****

“Two weeks,” the blacksmith said.

“Are you serious?” Jaskier asked, glancing at Geralt. He appeared stoic, but his hands were clenched into tight fists.

“Quality takes time. Unless you want me to bang those thinner pieces into roughly the right shape.”

“No, will wait and retrieve when ready,” Geralt said.

“We might take longer than two weeks, so hold onto the armour for him,” Jaskier added. He hoped they’d make the trip to Skellige and back within that time, but one never knew when travelling with a witcher. Plans and schedules were but faint whispers in the wind, subservient to the next contract, whenever it would appear.

“Need a sword now though.”

“That we can arrange,” the blacksmith said. He left his counter with the order book and the measurements he had painstakingly taken and scribbled down, and beckoned them to follow him to a wall that had all manners of blades mounted on it. Geralt took his time choosing, testing several weapons before he finally settled on one that to Jaskier looked ridiculously oversized yet somehow elegant despite its bulk. After a bit of furious haggling, Jaskier parted with his coins and Geralt slipped the steel sword into the harness they also purchased for him. The blacksmith couldn’t provide a silver sword, but having one weapon was progress already. Geralt’s mouth was quirked only a little bit upwards, but to Jaskier, he was positively beaming with his new toy.

“Right, now you have your murder weapon, time to visit a healer. Do you have a preference?”

Geralt grunted in response, but he started purposefully striding towards the northwest. Jaskier followed, hastening his steps to keep up. They turned several corners, approaching what looked like the wealthier part of the city. Jaskier’s coin purse had already taken a bit of a hit at the inn and the blacksmith, so if they were about to visit a high-class healer, he might have to direct them elsewhere.

Geralt stopped in front of a building that looked more modest than the taller ones surrounding it. He knocked on the green door and waited. Jaskier didn’t know what he expected, but when an attractive woman with short auburn hair opened it, he was lost for words. She wasn’t, though.

“Geralt! You jerk! Do you realise how many years it’s been? What have you done to yourself this time?”

“Good to see you too, Shani. What makes you think I’ve --”

“If you were inclined to make social calls, you’d have come sooner than six years after you left me in a very compromising position. Now get in, let me take a look.”

Geralt stepped through the door meekly and Jaskier followed. He felt like he was intruding on a private moment, but Geralt appeared unbothered. If he’d wanted to keep Jaskier out, he would’ve told him so.

“Oh hello, I’m Shani,” the woman said and offered her hand to Jaskier. He took it and introduced himself.

“I’ve heard people sing your songs, though never a professional performance. I’m honoured to have you visit my humble clinic.”

“Not so humble compared to your Oxenfurt one,” Geralt noted. Shani glared at him.

“At least your wit’s not wounded. So tell me, where does it hurt?”

Geralt raised his arms in front of her. She rolled up his sleeves and did a visual inspection before running her hands over them.

“What happened?” she asked. Jaskier recounted how the damage had occurred, not trusting Geralt’s memory of the events to be detailed enough.

“Mhm, and the treatment?”

“Some potions and rest,” Jaskier said.

“Did you actually set the bones? Splint these? Have a healer look at them?”

“Umm, no?”

“Melitele help me,” she said and rolled her eyes. “Geralt, you’re such a bonehead. You should know better. Now come on, to the treatment room. Pray I don’t have to re-break these. Bard, you may wait here, there’s tea leaves in the cupboard, make yourself at home.” She softened her voice considerably when addressing Jaskier, but still he felt like the admonishment was directed at him. After all, he’d been in charge of caring for Geralt when he’d been too ill to do anything for himself.

Geralt and Shani vacated the kitchen area, leaving Jaskier alone. He decided to make himself useful and boil enough water for everyone. Fumbling with the unfamiliar stove and looking for cups killed some time while he waited. Having nothing else to do, he sat down at the table and drank tea. He was on his second cup when the door to the treatment room opened. Geralt stepped out first, and the expression on his face could only be described as smug.

“I’m cleared for duty,” he declared.

“That is not what I said. I said that by some miracle your hand and arms are in good shape, but you should take it easy for a while. Not go swinging your swords around yet.”

“Told you, white raffard could replace your entire profession. Besides, I can tell when I actually need a healer.”

“You can’t tell a cow from a frog, and you’re inexcusably rude,” Shani said, but her voice was light. She sat down at the table, accepting the mug Jaskier handed to her with a nod.

“In all seriousness though, make sure he doesn’t start practising for a few more days at least,” she said to Jaskier. “I’m assuming you’re the brains behind this operation.”

Geralt snorted so violently he nearly choked on his tea. Shani rolled her eyes at him.

“Go to the basement and pick whatever potions you want. No one else can use those toxic concoctions and I rarely get visits from witchers these days. Best not let them spoil, I can restock later.”

Geralt obeyed, leaving Jaskier alone with Shani.

“How is he, really?” she asked, with sudden sincerity. Jaskier thought for a moment before replying.

“He’s alright. Still on the path, avoiding his child surprise. Physically, he’s perfectly functional.”

“And emotionally? Still clinging to the fantasy of feeling nothing, or has he opened up to you?”

“I like to think I’ve made some progress in that regard, but there’s a long way to go.”

Shani smiled at that. She picked up her mug again and raised it to her lips.

“Such an infuriating man, how does he keep stealing hearts, the way he is. Have you two thought about settling down?”

Jaskier felt his cheeks go red. He realised why Shani and Geralt seemed so at ease with each other: she was one of those whose hearts he had stolen.

“Erm, we’re just friends. No settling down business between us,” he said.

“My apologies,” Shani said. “I’m glad he’s found a friend like you. I can tell you take good care of him.”

Jaskier was saved from further embarrassment by Geralt’s return. His pockets were bulging with tiny bottles and vials, and he had a few in his hands too.

“Did you rob her whole supply?” Jaskier asked. If Shani asked for compensation, his purse would not be able to handle it.

“I lost all mine, and she has plenty. Barely made a dent.”

“It’s alright, I’d rather they be of use than go stale on my shelves. After all, they’re my _professional replacement_.” Her voice was dripping venom, but she still had a twinkle in her eyes. Geralt grinned, not entirely unwolfishly.

“Time to go. Thanks Shani, farewell.”

“Do drop by on occasion, even if you’re not at death’s door,” she said and waved them off. Jaskier made his bow and wished her well.

Out on the street, they headed towards the harbour, walking in silence broken only by the clinking of Geralt’s new potions. Jaskier was torn between curiosity regarding Shani, and not wanting to be obnoxiously nosy about something that didn’t concern him. She had clearly been with Geralt at some point, and they had parted amicably. At least he had gotten the impression that she truly cared about Geralt still.

“Almost at the harbour. Will you finally disclose our destination?” Geralt asked. He was walking with a new spring in his step, as if excited about the upcoming adventure. Which he probably was, he’d been laid up for a long time for someone as active as him.

“Skellige,” Jaskier said.

“More specifically?”

“That’s all she told me.”

“Suppose we can work with that.”

Geralt took the lead at the piers. Jaskier followed, holding onto his purse. The docks were full of sketchy individuals, killing time before sailing off. They visited five vessels of varying sizes before Geralt’s negotiations bore fruit: a double deal wherein Geralt would work as a guard against potential pirates and sea monsters, and Jaskier would entertain the crew, and they’d pay nothing but a nominal fee for their food. Well-pleased with himself, Geralt led them back to the inn to pack their things and rest for the night.

*****

Jaskier watched the clouds slowly pass by. The sky was remarkably blue, serving as a stark contrast to the white piles of fluff. The deck under him swung gently, lulling him towards sleep. He was fully relaxed. Nothing demanded his attention, no one was bothering him. They were advancing at a moderate speed, propelled on by a gentle breeze that the crew was trying to harness in different configurations of sails. Jaskier ignored their efforts. He had no responsibilities until nightfall, when he’d sing to keep the sailors on duty vigilant and entertained. All he needed to do at the moment was to pass the time, and he chose to do it by being as lazy as he could be.

His travelling companion had different priorities. Geralt was running the ship’s length, hopping from deck to deck, swinging his sword near-incessantly. Some of the sailors were experienced in battle and would spar with him when they had the time to spare, but mostly Geralt trained alone. The first mate had declared the masts off-limits after Geralt had climbed up and accidentally cut an important line, but otherwise he was free to roam wherever. Jaskier was exhausted just looking at him, and chose to save his efforts for when they counted. It was rare to have a period when he genuinely needed to do nothing and go nowhere, and he preferred to take full advantage of the downtime.

A head of dishevelled white hair appeared in Jaskier’s peripheral vision. He turned to look and saw Geralt reach the end of the poop deck with a barrel in his hands. He stopped at the back railing and started doing squats with the barrel held above his head. Some water sloshed out from under the poorly insulated lid every time he came back up. A sack of flour was jammed in his harness between his sword and back.

“Does the cook know you took that?” Jaskier asked. He sat up and stretched his arms. Dinner time must be approaching, at least if the rumblings of his belly were an indicator.

“I’ll put it back,” Geralt said. Sweat was glistening on his forehead and he sounded winded, but not fatigued. Jaskier felt like he was responsible for trying to keep a leash on the stubborn witcher, but so far he didn’t appear to have tired himself out too much.

“Sit with me for a bit, enjoy the lovely day. We won’t reach the pirates’ usual hunting grounds for some time yet.”

“Precisely why I need to strengthen myself now.”

“Suppose that’s logical, but you should take a break. You’ve been at it all day already.” Jaskier looked at the waves spreading from the back of the ship. Nothing broke the surface on either side, allowing the sun to reflect undisturbed on its descent.

“Could’ve gone three days straight in my prime,” Geralt said, but he did put the barrel down and shrugged out of his harness. The sack fell with a dull thump.

“Yes, well, that was what, fifty years ago? Do you even know how old you are?”

“Does it matter?”

“Not really, just curious. Could make a celebratory song for when you hit hundred. Provided you haven’t already.”

“I’m not that ancient,” Geralt grumbled, but with good humour. He sat down next to Jaskier and brushed his sweaty hair out of his eyes.

They fell silent, watching the vast ocean behind them, rocking gently with the ship. Jaskier could’ve stayed there forever, perfectly at ease under the blue sky, with a friend by his side.

“You know, this mission -- “ Jaskier started but was interrupted by a loud scream from above them. They twisted around to look, just in time to see a broken off piece of a mast and a man fly through the air and hit the water with a splash. Geralt was up and running towards the side before Jaskier even registered what had happened. He followed, seeing Geralt removing his boots and climbing on the railing. Jaskier watched with wide eyes as Geralt jumped down. He ran the rest of the way and leaned over the railing, trying to see something in the depths.

“What happened?” he asked from the people milling around him.

“Ploughing yard snapped,” a burly old sailor said, speaking as if it was a once-in-a-lifetime occurrence. Jaskier fleetingly considered foul play in the form of sorcery, but discarded the idea. Sometimes bad luck was just bad luck.

“Where are they?” someone asked behind him. Jaskier rushed back to the poop deck and peered over the crowd that had gathered there. He saw the broken piece of the mast floating behind the ship, but nothing else. A cold wave of fear went through him. Geralt could hold his breath for a disturbingly long time, but if he couldn’t find the man near the surface, would he make it back up in time? They also hadn’t dropped the anchor, presumably since the ship was moving so slowly, but they were still advancing. Jaskier had no idea how long they’d stay within range, and if the first mate would turn the ship around to search for them if they didn’t appear soon.

“Come on Geralt, come back,” Jaskier whispered. Silence fell over the crowd. They kept hoping, but holding one’s breath for as long as the sailor would’ve already needed to have was difficult even under the best circumstances. The men closest to the railing held a rope in their hands, ready to throw it down, but their grip kept relaxing more the longer nothing happened.

“Thom’s a goner,” someone behind Jaskier said. There were several murmurs of agreement. He squeezed his hands into tight fists and took a deep breath. Still not too long for a witcher.

Seconds ticked by agonisingly slowly. Some were already leaving the scene and going back to their tasks, muttering about unreliable witchers. The men with the rescue line stayed, but their hands were hanging loose now, only lightly clutching the rope. Jaskier wanted to shake everyone and tell them not to give up, but he held still. He knew it had been twice as long as was reasonable to wait already. For a human.

Although everyone had been waiting for it, Geralt finally breaking the surface still made the onlookers jump. He coughed and gasped, only barely remaining above water.

“Geralt!” Jaskier shouted, unaware that tears were flowing down his cheeks. Geralt turned towards him and started swimming. He was some distance behind the ship, but his strong strokes soon brought him in range of the line the men tossed down. Only then Jaskier noticed that Geralt was clutching the fallen sailor to his chest. He grabbed the rope and they pulled him up.

Geralt fell to the deck on all fours, dripping sea water onto the planks and panting hard. The officer doubling as a medic had been alerted to examine Thom, but he only shook his head.

“I’m afraid it’s too late for him,” he said, directing his gaze at Geralt. “You made a valiant effort, witcher, but he’s not breathing.”

Jaskier saw the pain in his friend’s eyes as comprehension dawned.

“No!” Geralt shouted and reached for the drowned man. He pounded on his chest with his fist, even shocked him with a weak aard, but nothing happened. The medic allowed him to keep trying, but Jaskier couldn’t watch the growing despair any longer. He put his hand on Geralt’s shoulder, restraining him.

“Geralt, it’s over. You did everything you could, let him go now.”

“No, it’s possible to be resuscitated from drowning, I’ve seen it done.”

“None of us here have that kind of magic. He’s already gone.” Jaskier kept his tone steady, trying to suppress his own emotions. The tremble in his voice betrayed him.

Geralt gave the man’s chest one more weak punch before he stopped. Jaskier kept his hand on his shoulder.

“Come on, let’s get you out of the wet clothes,” Jaskier said. Geralt lowered his head and stood up. He allowed Jaskier to guide him inside the ship to the passengers’ area where their belongings were stowed. Jaskier took out his blanket while Geralt undressed. After hanging his shirt and pants to dry, Jaskier wrapped the soft fleece around Geralt’s shoulders and motioned for him to sit. They leaned against the wooden partition wall, hearing nothing but the creaking of the ship.

“Do you want to talk about what happened there?” Jaskier asked. He could guess what the answer would be, but he felt he needed to make the offer anyway.

“I failed. Nothing else to say.”

“It was an accident. Maybe he was already dead when he hit the water,” Jaskier said. Geralt shook his head.

“When I found him, he was looking at me, waving his arms. He wanted to be rescued.”

“You did everything you could,” Jaskier repeated. The words felt woefully insufficient in the face of a lost life. He wondered how many others there were: people Geralt couldn’t save, or had chosen not to. Did he remember them all? Had every single one of them left a mark on him? Not as easy to count as the scars on his skin, but something he carried with him all the same.

“Are you cold?” Jaskier asked. He slipped his arm around Geralt’s waist, snuggling against him under the blanket. Even if he didn’t need the heat, Jaskier still wanted to share the closeness of his body to comfort him. Geralt only grunted in response, but he didn’t pull away. Jaskier felt a patch of uneven skin under his hand. He ran his fingers lightly over it, feeling the raised texture. He knew the scar was circular and pulled a little when Geralt raised his left arm as high as it would go.

“Does it bother you?” Jaskier asked.

“What?” Geralt countered.

“That you hurt so much.”

“What do you mean?”

“All these scars, they’re not just blemishes on the skin, they go bone-deep. When I was controlling your body, I felt them, the physical mementos. You carry all of it: the pain, the marks, the memories. Which ones are the worst?”

“The memories. The ones I couldn’t save.”

Jaskier turned to look at Geralt. He hadn’t expected him to reply at all, certainly not with such raw honesty. He squeezed his hand tighter, pressing closer.

“What about the ones you did save? We leave no visible sign on you, but surely you don’t forget about us?”

The corners of Geralt’s mouth quirked upwards barely noticeably. Jaskier could swear he leaned closer as well.

“You matter.”

“And don’t you ever forget that. If you retired tomorrow, you’d have still helped more people than fifty average villagers combined. I wish I could lend you my body, so you could feel free of all the aches and pains again. Even if my senses are dull and I have the physical prowess of a grape.”

“I’m perfectly fine with my own,” Geralt said. Jaskier silently agreed. Geralt was Geralt because of everything he had experienced. To remove any of it, even the most painful parts, would alter him. And Jaskier found himself reluctant to give up any aspect of his friend, they were all dear to him.

“You look like a grape too.”

Jaskier gasped and clutched his chest, allowing his mouth to gape open. “How dare you?! I -- the most beauteous bard of continent-wide renown -- resembling a small fruit?! This is blasphemy and treason of the highest order!”

“Sound like one too.”

“You have the gall to compare my divine voice to that of a -- wait, grapes make no sound.”

This time Geralt actually grinned. Jaskier couldn’t hold his mirth any longer, he burst out laughing, drawing the attention of a passing sailor. He tried to hush himself, resulting in a prolonged snort that would’ve made Roach envious. After he calmed down, Jaskier leaned his head against Geralt’s bare shoulder.

“Seriously though, don’t forget your successes, especially at times like these. There are so many mothers, fathers, sons, daughters and friends who are grateful to you. In their lives, you made all the difference.”

“Thank you,” Geralt said, so quietly that Jaskier wasn’t sure he heard it correctly. He smiled anyway.

*****

Their arrival in Kaer Trolde was a mundane affair. The sailors sprung to action mooring the ship and starting to unload the cargo, moving like a well-oiled wheel. Jaskier and Geralt reported to the captain and concluded their contract. They parted ways amiably, with an invitation to sail with them again should the opportunity arise.

“Right, here we are, time to find us a sorceress,” Jaskier said. “One assumes she’s made enough waves to have been noticed. And knowing Yennefer, we probably can’t avoid her.”

The first inn they checked provided them with no useful information. Someone might have seen a sorceress dressed in black, possibly on a nearby island, or maybe on the other side of Skellige. Another potential witness swore he had seen her walk on water. The booze on his breath rendered his story more than a little bit suspect.

They visited another inn, this one in the shadier part of town. Jaskier bought them some ale and asked around, not shy about flashing a coin here and there. Geralt stood in a corner looking grim, repelling anyone who might’ve considered approaching the newcomer. As a contrast, Jaskier was only too glad to tell of their arduous journey and spread any gossip from the continent he thought people might find interesting.

“She’s on the small island south of this one,” Geralt said when Jaskier came to his corner to take a breather from socialising.

“How do you know?” Jaskier asked. He took a long swig from his mug, raising his brows at the surprisingly good taste considering how little he paid for it.

“Those two,” Geralt indicated two men with nothing but his eyes, “discussed it after they’d spoken with you. They think they should go warn her about suspicious individuals asking after her. Amusing.”

“So you overheard more from across the room than I managed to glean at my most charming. Life is so unfair.”

“I know where we can get a rowboat too,” Geralt said, most decidedly not sounding smug.

“Then let’s go, complete our mission.”

“It’s dark.”

“Is that suddenly a problem for you, with your kitty eyes?”

“It’s dangerous for you,” Geralt said.

Jaskier felt a sudden burst of warmth spread inside. Geralt had been in such a rush before, wanting to leave before he was well enough for the trip, and now when they were but a brisk row away from reaching their goal, he was prepared to wait until morning purely for him.

“Eh, I’ll be fine, you’ll keep us from sinking,” he said. “Where’s the boat?”

Geralt didn’t reply. Instead, he stood up straight from leaning against the wall and put his hood on. Jaskier drained his mug, buttoned up his doublet, and followed Geralt outside. They headed towards the harbour, though Geralt didn’t lead them to where the larger vessels were moored. To the side, there were several smaller piers, getting dingier the further from the tall ships they got. When there was only rocky shore before them, Geralt dove into a nearby bush and uncovered a small rowboat from under the fir boughs it had been camouflaged with.

“How did you know where to find it?”

“Two teenage girls were telling a third one about it, they’d found it during the day, were planning an adventure.”

“And we’ll steal it, and their dream along with it. Such killjoys you make us.”

“Would you rather swim?”

“No, no, this is fine,” Jaskier hastened to say.

They carried the boat to the water, finding that the oars were strapped inside. Geralt picked them up and started rowing, leaving Jaskier with his inferior human eyes as the lookout. They bumped into one underwater rock, but otherwise the route was clear. The small island wasn’t far, the moon hadn’t travelled much across the sky by the time they reached it. Geralt rowed the boat as close to the shore as he could -- this one a proper beach with sand -- and waited for Jaskier to hop out and drag it the rest of the way.

“This is bad for my shoes,” he grumbled as he was wading ankle-deep in sea water. Geralt shushed him, and Jaskier’s first instinct was to protest, but he noticed that Geralt was focused on something and remained quiet instead.

“She knows we’re here,” Geralt said after a moment. Jaskier looked around.

“Where?”

Geralt didn’t answer. He jumped out of the boat and started heading towards the forest at the edge of the beach. Jaskier pulled the boat further ashore and followed. Very little light managed to filter through the canopy, leaving Jaskier to stumble in the dark, trying to keep up with Geralt’s longer strides. Luckily they didn’t have far to go. They reached a clearing with a single torch burning in the middle of it. And next to the torch, Yennefer stood with her arms crossed.

“Why are you here?” she asked.

“Good to see you too. Yes, we survived, no thanks to you,” Jaskier said, mirroring her in his stance.

“Ungrateful,” she said.

“You’re welcome for the stone too.”

“Did you use it yet?” Geralt asked. He stepped closer to Yennefer, but kept further than an arm’s length away. She hesitated.

“No,” she finally said.

“Give it to me,” Geralt said. Jaskier whipped his head around to look at him. Was that why they were here, so he could use it himself? Yennefer’s face reflected the same bafflement.

“What makes you think I’d just give it away?”

“Because you know what using it will cost. Let me take it back, and bury it for good.”

“I have gone through too much to just toss it away. The solution to my problem is finally within my reach, you honestly think I’ll give it up?”

“You’re not going to use it. Or you already would’ve.”

“And you’re the expert on what I will or will not do?”

“I know you have a kind heart. The price is too high.”

Jaskier tried not to sneer at Geralt’s words. He had witnessed little kindness from Yennefer throughout the years of knowing her. He couldn’t claim to be acquainted with her intimately, but he’d heard stories of her deeds and they did not flatter her.

“You’re a fool, witcher,” she said. She didn’t sound as outraged as Jaskier would’ve expected. Geralt stepped closer to her, and placed his hand on her arm. She didn’t shrug it off.

“And you are not. Sacrificing several lives to undo a choice that you made, you know your soul cannot survive such an act. Give the stone to me, remove the temptation.”

“What would you do with it?”

“Take it back to the temple and bury it.”

“How do I know you won’t use it yourself?”

“I’m a witcher,” he said, as if that explained everything. To Jaskier, it did, if the stone indeed required human lives to fuel it, but he didn’t know if Yennefer agreed. She had been very passionate about getting it and she must’ve known in advance what using it would cost.

“You would journey all the way back to the temple just to deposit the stone there?”

“My silver sword is still there. Gonna retrieve it anyway.”

They lapsed into silence. Jaskier felt awkward, like he didn’t belong. He switched his weight from one foot to the other, trying not to fidget, focusing on keeping his mouth shut for once. This was between Geralt and Yennefer. To him, it felt like they were discussing something other than the stone, but he couldn’t quite catch what.

“Am I still important to you?” Yennefer asked.

“I care,” Geralt said, “and I have a debt to repay.”

“I see,” Yennefer said, looking into Geralt’s eyes. Whatever she found there seemed to finalise her decision. She pulled the stone from her pocket and handed it over.

“Thank you,” Geralt said as he accepted it.

“I suppose this is goodbye. All debts repaid, all forced ties severed.”

“Are you sorry?”

“No. I see you’re in good hands,” Yennefer said, glancing at Jaskier. Geralt only inclined his head.

“You made the right call,” he said, causing Yennefer to snort in amusement.

“I’ll do you one last favour,” she said and raised her hand. A portal swirled into existence, disturbing the silence of the clearing. “Straight to the temple.”

“I hate portals,” Geralt grumbled, though not with any vigour. Yennefer grinned at him.

“Come on,” Geralt said, holding his hand out for Jaskier. He stepped closer and took it, feeling the rough warmth of Geralt’s palm.

“Take care,” Geralt said and stepped through, pulling Jaskier along with him. Before he was engulfed by the portal, Jaskier turned his head to look at Yennefer, seeing her smile wistfully. He shouted a thank you over his shoulder and was assaulted by a twisting sensation, turning his head and stomach and entire state of being.

They materialised in the middle of the swamp. Jaskier kept his footing as he landed into a shallow pool of filthy water. His shoes were immediately soaked and he grimaced. Geralt fell on his knees and gagged.

“You alright?” Jaskier asked.

“Hate… portals,” Geralt panted. Jaskier offered him a hand, wincing when his palm came to contact with Geralt’s wet one.

“I thought I was done with this bloody swamp,” he said. It was dark and windy, but the smell of rotting plant material was much less offending to his human nose than it had been to the heightened witcher senses the last time he had experienced it.

“Temple’s there,” Geralt said and nodded towards a dark pile of something Jaskier couldn’t make out. They started walking towards it, their feet making squelching noises on the marshy terrain.

“What you said to Yennefer,” Jaskier said, hesitating a bit. “I know it’s none of my business, but was that a goodbye? Is everything over between you two?”

“Yeah,” Geralt said, so gruffly it could’ve been a wordless grunt.

“Do you want to be alone, once we’re done with this mission? I would of course happily continue travelling with you, like we used to, if that’s okay with you, I actually missed your grumpy demeanour, and there are so many songs to sing, a new adventure behind every corner, so much world left to discover, like I haven’t ever been to the Korath desert, I hear it’s quite unpleasant but truly unique to see, we could --”

“No,” Geralt interrupted. Jaskier’s heart fell.

“No, you don’t want to see the --”

“No, to answer your question.”

Jaskier thought back to what he had asked, and warmth spread inside him. Suddenly the marsh water felt less freezing, and his steps lighter. A huge smile split his face.

“Let’s go! Find your sword, get rid of that blasted stone, and then, who knows!”

“Certainly not blessed silence.”

Jaskier’s laughter accompanied their steps, echoing off the surrounding forest as the sun started rising. They greeted the morning with excited smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for reading! <3


End file.
